


To Be Remembered

by buffoello



Category: 11/22/63 - Stephen King, Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Assassination, Assassination Plot(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Domestic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Travel, ricky and banjo baybeeeee, set for the most part in l.a. and deals a lot with lgbt issues at the time, some cool historical references for yall, what if the ghoul boys time travelled... and they also had to hide their feelings for each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffoello/pseuds/buffoello
Summary: Ryan and Shane are asked to fulfill their favorite diner owner's dying request: to save JFK from assassination. Given new identities and a time travelling portal, they journey back to 1960 to wait until 1963. But the past, ever resistant to change, has other plans for the meddling duo. Living in the past is more difficult than it seems, but it does help when your best friend is there.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara & Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 42
Kudos: 75





	1. Best Damn Burgers This Side of the Country

Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej were well known thanks to their popular online show, Buzzfeed Unsolved. The show rose to fame with their addicting balance of timid believer and bold skeptic. History, specifically true crime and supernatural events, were the topics of their show. As they released content, the hype for the show only grew, and with it, their work. In between filming, editing, researching, and scouting for locations, the two men rarely had time for themselves. When they did, they often sought the refuge of Al's Diner, a small spot within the bustling city of LA with their favorite burgers this side of the country. They had been going there since they became partners on Unsolved, and the owner, Al, knew them and their orders well. 

When Ryan and Shane arrived at the diner for a lunch break one day, they were greeted first by the bell attached to the door and second by Al himself. He waved them over to the bar, which was still sporting vintage laminate countertops. Sunlight streamed in from the large windows spanning the face of the diner, brightening up the fading red walls and reflecting harshly off the old and scratchy chrome finishes of the furniture. 

The ghoul boys took their seats at the counter as Al asked, "The usual?" 

"God, you know it, Al. Grill me up some of that sweet, sweet meat!" Shane said, turning the stool back to the side so he could plunk himself into the cracking seat. Al snickered, pouring the boys a couple glasses of water and sliding them into their waiting hands. 

Ryan, rolling his eyes at Shane's comment, followed suit and sat himself next to his partner, placing his cup of water off to the side. "Shane, please never call it 'Al's Sweet Meat.'"

A side eye from Shane to his left and a sly smile told Ryan he just gave Shane a terrible idea. Instead of using it in the moment, however, Shane was interrupted by Al. 

"How are you doing today, my two favorite sleuths?" The diner's namesake had greying hair with a receding hairline, wrinkles deep in his face casting harsh shadows in the midday light. He was neither too old nor too young, and always seemed to have a youthful spring in his step despite working constantly at the diner. 

"Oh, same old, same old." Shane replied dismissively, hand tucked underneath his chin. 

Al smiled at them both as he turned to the grill behind him. Taking a couple layered, pre-formed patties from his cooler, he slapped them onto the hot surface. The patties sizzled on contact. 

Ryan, beat from staring at a screen all day, allowed his mind to relax and eyes to wander. He caught sight of only a few patrons other than he and Shane, each already served and happily munching down on Al's classic burgers and fries. 

Shane watched Al as he worked, mouth watering as the smell of burgers wafted to his nose. Since he didn't eat breakfast, he was starving. He knew one of Al's burgers would be the trick to aid his grumbling stomach. 

"Solved any of those cold cases yet?" Al asked. 

"Ha! Nope," Ryan scoffed, "Not unless we could miraculously go back in time to see what really happened. We recently covered JFK's assassination, which a lot of people were looking forward to hearing about. I think you were one of the people that suggested it to us, right?" 

Al nodded. "Only because I'm quite the history buff myself." 

"Well, what's your theory?" Shane asked, perking up a little. 

Al paused maybe for a little too long, at that, but the boys wrote it off in their minds as normal, since he was currently assembling their burgers. "Oswald. It was him, no doubt." 

Ryan's brow furrowed at the immovability of his statement. "Really? You don't think he was just a patsy for the government, or Russia?" Ryan prodded. 

Al set their burgers down in front of them, shaking his head. "Nope, it was him." Just as Ryan opened his mouth to ask for clarification, Al interrupted. "I gotta go check something, quick. Be right back." 

Then he was gone, off in the back room with the door swinging behind him. The windows were faded, too, so it would be no use trying to peep in. Ryan mused over Al's reaction. 

As if to answer his unspoken question, Shane said, "Guess some people are set in their theories, huh?" He took a big mouthful of burger and sighed, chewing happily. 

"Guess so." Ryan replied, eyes lingering on the back room doors before he also focused on his burger. 

.

"Before you leave, Ghoul Boys, I have a request."

Al took their trays and tossed them in the sink, then grabbed a dish towel to wipe down the counter they were just on.

"Sure, Al, what is it?" Shane asked, finishing off the last of his water as he held it up so Al could wipe underneath. Ryan's mind immediately went into Unsolved mode, wondering if this was the day they'd be invited into LA's mafia or get their hands dirty doing crime. He dismissed the thoughts in order to look at Al expectantly. 

"Could I have you two come in tomorrow night right before closing? I wanted to try a new recipe on you guys for size. Think it might be my next great burger, and I trust my regulars more than anyone." He winked at them, and both smiled at the compliment. 

"Taste testing? I'm in!" Shane immediately replied, setting down his empty glass. 

Ryan looked at the time and took one last sip of his water, sliding off the stool to grab his jacket. "That sounds great, Al. We gotta go back to work, but we'll see you tomorrow." They left a total of $20 on the counter. He and Shane put their jackets on and sent back a wave as the bells on the door signaled their departure. 

Al, looking a bit nervous to Ryan's eyes, waved back with a small smile. Suspicion began to grow in Ryan's gut, and his wide smile faltered. 

-

"What sort of recipe do you think Al has in store for us?" Shane asked Ryan excitedly as they ubered over to Al's Diner the next day. According to the clock in the car, it was 8:48pm. 

Ryan shrugged. "I dunno. Do you think he was acting weird yesterday? Like the burger recipe wasn't all he wanted to ask us about?" 

Shane rolled his eyes and pushed Ryan in the shoulder "Get out of your Unsolved mindset, Ryan, it's just gonna be the burger recipe. You gotta learn to leave your theorizing and paranoia at work." He had a playful smile on his lips as he teased. 

Ryan smiled a little at the reassurance, but still felt nerves claw at his gut. "Maybe I'm overthinking it, but I feel like we're gonna be dragged into some deep shit." 

"What, you think Al 'Sweet Meat', uh.... What's his last name?" 

Ryan let out a wheezing laugh at that, feeling a little better. Shane laughed along and continued, "You think Al would hurt anyone? He's a sweet old man, not a bloodlusting old coot like all of your cold cases are." Ryan laughed louder at that, playfully pushing Shane in the shoulder. 

The car slowed to a stop, and they thanked the Uber driver as they exited the vehicle. Ryan looked up at Al's Diner and realized, _Damn, this place is creepy at night_. Shane opened the door and gestured for Ryan to go first, which shook him of his anxiety for a moment. When they walked in, however, Ryan still felt butterflies in his stomach. Chairs on the tables, old buzzing lights, and the emptiness in the diner felt like he was on one of their haunted investigations. 

Shane, as always, seemed unfazed and sauntered up to the register, pressing the "press for assistance" bell fixed to the counter. Ryan trailed behind, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets nervously. 

When a moment passed without answer, Shane's expecting smile turned into pursed lips as he called out for Al, looking around. Time seemed to stretch on for Ryan as his heart rate began to pick up, muscles tensed. 

Just when Shane was about to call out again, Al came bursting in through the door to the back room. Shane whirled, but the friendly greeting died on his lips as he noticed the state of the older man. 

Al looked years older, with twice as many wrinkles as they last saw him. His hair was white and his hairline reduced to around his ears and the back of his head. His dark eyes were sunken, making him look more frail than he already looked. To make matters worse for his appearance, he let out a hacking cough as he leaned on the counter for support. 

The sight made Ryan's hair stand on end. He had been right, somehow - he knew it. He was spurred to action when Shane, understandably alarmed, rushed around the counter to Al's side. 

"Shit, Al, what happened to you?" Shane grasped at Al's shoulder but felt it to be much more body than he expected. The man he saw only yesterday was definitely not the man he was seeing today. 

Ryan lingered behind Shane, brows knitted in worry. Al finished his coughing fit, and used Shane and the counter to right himself. His skinny fingers on his arm sent a shiver down Shane's spine. "Boy, am I glad to see you ghostbusters." Al snickered, a spark of what they saw a few days earlier left in him. He hobbled past Shane and Ryan in the direction of a booth in a corner, where he collapsed into the cracking cushions. 

Ryan and Shane exchanged bewildered looks before following and sitting opposite Al. Shane gaped for a moment before blurting, "You look like shit. What happened?" Any jokes with the statement were gone in the wake of Al's state, Ryan noticed. 

Al leaned heavily on the table between them, handkerchief clutched in his fingers, revealing a hint of blood. Ryan eyed it nervously. "There is something I need to tell you two, and for my own sake I beg you to keep it secret. You understand?" 

Stunned, both boys simply nodded. 

"Good. Good… Well, Let's get started."


	2. Everybody Knows Shit's Fucked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down the rabbit hole they go...

"Time travel is real, and it's in my pantry." 

Shane and Ryan exchanged looks. 

Al, unfazed, continued: "There's a portal. I'm able to travel back to 1960 any time I want, for however long I want, and it only takes two minutes." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "I asked you guys here because you're, honestly, the only people I can trust with this information." He propped himself up with his elbows as he stared at them, mouth in a thin line and brow furrowed.

The two boys sat in stunned silence for a moment. Both of their minds worked to find a reasonable explanation.

 _Is this a prank?,_ thought Ryan; _Why the elaborate ruse?_

 _What kind of bullshit is he trying to pull?_ thought Shane; _Did he go off the deep end since we last saw him?_

Both stayed silent despite their running thoughts. Al suddenly doubled over into a coughing fit, which made both boys jump, bringing them back to the present. The bunched up handkerchief in Al's hand barely muffled the hacking, painful coughing. 

When Al pulled away, Shane and Ryan stared at the fresh blood in the handkerchief. 

Al answered their unspoken question: "I'm dying." He paused again, searching for words. "This is real. I promise - I can show you." 

With visible strain, Al got himself out of the booth and beckoned the boys to follow. They followed, albeit cautiously, to the back room. It was spacious, but a maze of boxes. Al led them to one of the back corners, where a closet was, and opened it up. With a metallic tug, the exposed bulb in the closet flooded the small space with light. 

It looked like a normal, empty storage closet. 

Shane, who followed first, looked expectantly at Al. Ryan studied the closet nervously, and walked closer behind Shane. 

"If you go inside, you'll feel an invisible set of steps near the back. Go up them. Then you'll be there." Al's expression was open, and the more Shane studied it the more he realized this was still the man they'd known for three years. If he truly was dying, as his cough expressed, then why not indulge a dying man's wishes? 

Ryan's mind and heart were racing. He was also studying Al, watching for any sign of insanity or instability. He found none, yet he still felt doubt and worry.

Shane was the first to speak. "So… If we do this, _then_ can we take you to a hospital?" 

Ryan smiled a little at the joking tone in Shane's voice, but still was on edge. Al replied, "Please, see for yourself. Take as long as you need. It'll only take two minutes here. I'll be here." 

Shane took a step toward the closet, and Ryan's hand instinctively shot out to grab the sleeve of his flannel. Shane looked back, and seeing Ryan's worry, smiled in reassurance. "Hey, it'll be two minutes. We can do that." Underneath his expression, he was telling Ryan to comply, for now. Ryan, getting the message, pursed his lips and reluctantly followed Shane into the closet. 

It was Ryan's shoe that first collided with the bottom step. 

"I feel it," he said, grabbing Shane's arm again. 

Shane stopped and, feeling with his foot, also bumped the step. He scooted closer to Ryan, and looked at the shorter man. "You or me first?" He asked with a smile. 

"Together?" Ryan said without thinking. "I… don't wanna get lost." He added with a small smile.

"Sure." Shane grabbed Ryan's hand. "Together." He repeated. 

Ryan took a last look back at Al, just to make sure he didn't suddenly have a knife to stab them with or was poised to close the closet behind them. He wasn't, so he looked back to Shane. 

Shane nodded, and they took the first step. 

The second step. 

The third step. 

They felt the warmth of the sun before they opened their eyes. 

.

They opened their eyes and squinted at the sunlight. Despite it being nighttime back in LA, it seemed near midday, judging by the sun beating down on them. They were also outside, no sign of the diner to be seen. 

Ryan cautiously let go of Shane's hand, taking in his surroundings. 

They stood in an empty lot. Well, mostly empty. The lack of a diner made the space seem bigger than it was. There were a few buildings they recognized, newer than in their contemporary. Workers poured out of a familiar factory across the street. Their eyes wandered to a milkman loading up a carrier of glass bottles. A small stumble shattered a bottle, and they heard him swear under his breath. A pink and white car cruised by, music coming from the stereo. Girls with high, curly ponytails topped with bows giggled as they walked by. Boys were playing catch near them, which were dressed in button ups tucked in khakis. Women wore fancy dresses, with big, spray-fixed hair. The men were dressed in full suits. Suddenly Shane and Ryan felt out of place in their clothes, made up of more synthetics and more casual than expected of these people. 

They were spurred into motion by a voice behind them. "You're not supposed to be here," said a man. He was lanky and unkempt. Booze was on his breath, but the clarity in his eyes as he looked at Shane and Ryan made them nervous. A yellow card stuck out of his hat band. 

When the man took a step towards them, Ryan frantically grabbed Shane's hand again and scrambled towards the portal. 

They fell onto the wood floor of the diner again. They both barely caught themselves, breathing heavily. The dim light of the exposed bulb flickered.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" Shane scrambled up from the floor, approaching Al. "Al, what the fuck?" Ryan got up, slower, reflecting on what they just saw. 

"I call it the rabbit hole." Al turned and began making his way back into the main area of the diner. 

"Wh - How long has it been there?" Shane followed, incredulous. Ryan went after Shane. 

Al shrugged. "Since I've had the diner." He sat down on one of the stools at the counter. 

"What about the - the man with the yellow card in his hat? What was he about?" Ryan piped up. 

"He's nobody," Al dismissed. "A vagrant." 

Insistent, Ryan continued. "He said we didn't belong there. I-It was like he was the only one who noticed we had appeared." He felt his palms becoming clammy, he knew he was panicking. 

"Now, that's not important. He's always there. The important thing is, you can go back and change things. You can change the courage of history for the better! You wanna know why I went back? I spent five years of my life in the past trying to save John F. Kennedy from being killed." Al's tone turned serious, and his hands were clenched into fists. 

"Wh-JFK? Why him?" 

"Just think - if he hadn't died, then his brother wouldn't have run for President as well, and then _he_ wouldn't have been assassinated… Vietnam wouldn't have happened without LBJ pushing for it… The world could be better. _Would_ be better." 

Shane sighed, exasperated. He brought his hands up above his head and clasped them together. He squeezed his eyes shut. Ryan gaped at Al. 

"This is crazy…" Shane muttered under his breath. 

"How do you know things will change?" Ryan asked. 

Al pulled out a pocket knife and set it on the counter. 

"You want us to _stab someone_?" Shane asked, shocked. 

"No, dumbass," Al pointed outside, to a tree near the sidewalk. "Go back through, carve something into that tree, then come back. Then you'll see the present can be changed." 

Ryan slowly took the knife, curling his fingers around it. He cast a glance at Shane, who raised his eyebrows in a noncommittal response. 

Ryan looked down at the knife in his hand for a moment. Then, in a burst of courage, Ryan forced himself to turn around and enter the back room again. If he was good at anything, it was making himself do things that he didn't want to do. Shane followed, and he clumsily grabbed Ryan's hand before they stumbled through the portal. He let go once they were on the other side, and he watched Ryan make a beeline for the tree amongst the familiar sights and sounds they witnessed minutes earlier. The sunshine beating down. The chatter of workers coming from across the street. Girls giggling. Shattering glass and mumbled curses. 

Shane half jogged to catch up to Ryan, slowing to stand next to him at the tree. He pulled the knife free and braced one hand on the tree. He carved his portion in, and then handed the knife handle-first to Shane. Shane carved his portion, and then snapped the pocket knife shut. 

When they came back through the rabbit hole, Shane trailed Ryan outside. In the tree was what they carved: _RB + SM._ Proof that what they'd witnessed was real, and had consequences. 

Still skeptical, Shane huffed and went back into the diner. He set the pocket knife in front of Al, and fixed him with a hard stare. "Why us?" 

"You two research cases like these all the time. It's what you do for a living. But what if you could actually _change_ history? _Solve_ a case for once?" 

"Why would I want to become a cop?" Shane scoffed. 

Ignoring his joke, Al continued, voice raising. "Boys, you have a real chance to change history here. You have a real chance of actually finding out what you're made of. Are you really gonna throw that away to keep living in this hell of the future?" 

They didn't answer. Al sighed. Along with his dilapidated appearance, he just looked tired. 

"Alright… I'll allow you to bring me to the hospital in exchange for you to come back to my place and listen to an old man try and debate his side, alright?" 

Ryan and Shane shared a worried look, but reluctantly agreed.

.

Ryan sat next to Shane, across from Al. The walls of Al's room looked out of a conspiracy movie, with red string connecting theories and suspects, people and places; newspaper clippings dwelled among old photos and push pins held it all together. Ryan's mind was not only reeling from the literal blast to the past earlier, but again from the trip to the hospital. They'd confirmed Al had cancer. Ryan was convinced he most definitely did _not_ have cancer yesterday. On top of that, when they got back to Al's house, he sat them down and talked deep into the night to explain the intricacies of the portal. 

The rabbit hole, surprisingly, had a vague set of rules: 

1\. Each journey through brings them to September 9, 1960, at 11:59pm.  
2\. No matter how long a person stays - hours, days, years - when they came back it would always be two minutes after they departed.  
3\. Past events can be changed, but any subsequent journeys through the portal would lead to the timeline being reset again.  
4\. The past does not want to change. The more significant the change, the more violent the past will become.

"I would have been able to complete my mission, but you heard the doctor: cancer got my ass. I also hadn't gotten to the point where I proved it was Oswald." 

"So, when you said it was Oswald, _you_ didn't even know?" Ryan asked, stunned.

"I wanted to prove it was Oswald before I made any attempt to stop him." He admitted. "During my last journey, I wanted to prove it was Oswald by investigating the assassination attempt on General Walker in Dallas in 1963, before JFK's assassination. The gun was the same as the gun used to kill Kennedy. If Oswald did it, then there would be enough reason for me to place him as the shooter in November." 

"And you want us to take up where you left off? Stay in the past for _years_?" Shane's brow furrowed, emotions guarded even to Ryan, as he gave him a once-over. 

"It's my life's work. I'm asking you, _begging you,_ to take the torch." 

Shane stood, shaking his head. "This is ridiculous. You can't expect us to dedicate years, maybe even the rest of our lives, to this." 

Ryan turned to Al, not quite willing to brush this off, but not quite willing to immediately take up the request. "We need the night to think about it." 

Al leaned forwards on his elbows, dragging a hand over his face. "Next thing I know you'll need more and more time to 'think about it', and by then I'll be dead," he mumbled. 

Guilt settled in Ryan's gut at that accusation, but Shane was still fired up. "How do you expect us to drop everything we've worked for and focus on _this?_ " He retorted. "Our lives are not something to throw away. We'd age _years_ in two minutes here, and then it might not work the way you want it to. You may think you know what'll happen, but honestly, you don't know. Expecting us to immediately say yes was wrong." 

"Guess you two aren't the kind of people I thought you were." Al snapped. "Go, if you won't say yes. Sure, take the night. Take the year. I won't be here long, anyway," he sneered, waving them off with his hand. 

Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when he realized he didn't know what to say. He was brought out of his pause by Shane, who touched his arm lightly. He looked up at Shane, whose look said it was time to go. He had pulled out his phone already, ready to call an Uber. Ryan stood up and followed him downstairs. 

All Ryan knew was that he and Shane had a lot to talk about before the sun rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully yall enjoy!! i havent written fics in so long so gimme all the feedback ;v;


	3. The Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The present urges the duo into the past.

Shane couldn't sleep. He kept mulling over the options in his mind, but all his thoughts did was loop and loop and loop and loop and - 

What were he and Ryan going to do? 

The pit of his stomach felt off, filled with guilt and worry. He _did_ feel bad for leaving Al hanging and getting so angry, but… he was asking so much. 

Ryan had stayed the night on his couch, since his place was closer than Ryan's and he felt it was too late for him to go home. It went unsaid, but Shane guessed he also didn't want to spend the night alone. After the encounters they had, he didn't blame him. 

Shane knew Ryan would be more forgiving and willing to do something like this, but he also knew he couldn't let his best friend do it alone, if the identifications Al had made for him and Ryan were any indication. Al expected them to go together, as Ricky Goldsworth and Billy McClintock. Ryan and Shane, with new names to use. 

A small knock on his door made Shane look over. He muttered a small, "Yeah?" and the door opened softly. 

It was Ryan, looking sleep deprived like they were on an overnight stay at a haunted location. The blanket Shane had given him was wrapped around his shoulders. "Are you awake?" He whispered. 

"Yeah, what's up?" He asked, equally as soft. He propped himself up on his elbows.

Ryan approached and stood near his bed. He chewed at his lip nervously before saying, "What do you think of all this? … Do we go?" 

Shane sighed and sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed. He motioned for Ryan to sit down, and he did without a word. 

"Honestly, I don't fucking know," Shane admitted with a smile. His feet were cold on the hard floor of his room. _It's only two minutes. How bad could it be? How difficult could it be to fuck with history? Shit, it's gonna be very difficult, isn't it..?_ "...Al trusted us enough to come to us with this, and I basically stormed out, and now I just kinda feel shitty." 

Ryan wheezed a soft laugh. "You were pretty pissed." 

They sat in silence for a moment. Shane leaned back on his hands. 

He looked over to Ryan with a calculating look. "What do you think? Do you wanna solve a crime? Change history? All those things he said?" 

One of Ryan's hands peeked out of his blanket cape as he leaned over with a sigh. He rubbed at his eyes, hoping to expel some sleepiness. Despite the fatigue, though, thinking about it alone _did_ help. He took a moment to answer. 

"It'll take two minutes here. Our money is basically provided for, thanks to the gambling prediction book and how cheap everything was. It's… kind of like a vacation?" He laughed hollowly at the lack of seriousness from his answer, and Shane quirked an eyebrow at him. "But… in all seriousness, I… think we should try. We can do something small, at first - do something for someone. We come back, see how it turns out, and if the world doesn't explode, then…" 

"We save Kennedy?" Shane finished. Ryan nodded, solemn. 

The silence in the room was overwhelming, then. The sounds of the city barely reached them as they felt a weight settle on their shoulders. Ryan's anxiety coiled in his gut, making him tense. Shane noticed and sat all the way up again, his hand settling between Ryan's shoulder blades. He looked at Shane.

"Hey, we have each other at least. I believe we can do this. Hell, for once I believe in something as fucked as this actually happening." Ryan laughed at that, and Shane smiled. "Let's get some sleep and then go to Al's, okay?" 

Ryan nodded. Shane scooted over to one side of the bed and patted the other, and Ryan crawled in, thankful for the comfort. Shane simply laid on his back and closed his eyes after he got under the blanket, but the other's presence was enough to allow him to finally sleep.

.

When they arrived at Al's, bag of time-travel guides they got from the man, they knocked and waited for an answer. After waiting a minute in silence, they tried the door to find it open. They walked in, calling for Al. Not hearing an answer, they ascended up to Al's room.

They found Al dead. Laid on his bed, peaceful, but still dead. 

"Fuck." The word seemed too loud for the space they were in. Shane dragged both hands over his face and squatted, sighing. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I shouldn't have been such a dick. Fuck..." 

"Shane, w - we need to go through the rabbit hole. Now. If - if they find his body, we have no access to the diner." Ryan said, unusually focused, especially with a dead man in the same room. _It's different than with ghosts, huh?_ thought Shane, still cursing his attitude the last time they saw Al. 

Reluctantly, Shane stood up and looked around for the lockbox of false identification and other helpful items Al had collected for them. When they found it, they stashed the sensitive information in their time-travel bag. 

"We should probably change into something… more formal?" Ryan suggested. "Men wear suits, isn't that what Al said?" 

Shane blinked in realization, looking down at his vans and screen printed shirt, neither of which were invented in the time they were going. Ryan's clothing wasn't much better, with a crew neck shirt and some boots. They both wore jeans, which were more fit for a teenager than a man in 1960. 

"Oh," Shane mumbled. "Uh, yeah. Do we… check Al's closet?" 

When they did, they were surprised to find an older, smaller suit jacket that fit Ryan (for the most part) and a slightly newer one to (mostly) fit Shane. Shane ditched his shirt for a plain button up he could tuck into his black jeans. He almost fit Al's shoes, so he swapped his vans for plain loafers. Ryan kept his boots on.

"We'll be sure to get a haircut and clothes once we get there." Shane said, not content with borrowing Al's clothes for longer than he had to. It was bad enough he was dead, but now he just felt bad for stealing the guy's clothes too. But, he wanted them to do this, he reasoned; he was sure he'd have let them borrow some of his old clothing. 

Once at the diner, they let themselves in with Al's keys. The clock on Ryan's phone said 9:01am. Ryan took both their phones, setting them next to the cash register for safekeeping. Bringing a smartphone into the past was decidedly _not_ a good idea. 

"So. Our backstory," Shane prodded.

"Not brothers." Ryan said. "I'm clearly asian and you're clearly white. Not gonna work." 

Shane wheezed at that. "Well, what are we then?" 

"Uh…" Ryan looked contemplative for a second. "Army buddies?" He suggested.

"What do we say when people ask where we were stationed, or whatever?"

"Hmm… We became buddies in the 4077 MASH in Korea!" 

Shane burst out laughing, the only good laugh he'd had for a couple days. "That'll work, I think. But if anyone gives you shit for being Asian, I'm knocking them flat on their ass. Deal?" 

Ryan smiled, appreciating the offer. "Yeah, that would be nice. I don't think me knocking them flat on their ass would help anything. I hope it isn't an issue, though… I am Japanese, after all. World War II wasn't that long ago, in 1960… Al did say I'd be fine if I didn't get into too much trouble, but... I dunno." His smile turned nervous. 

"Hey, I'm German, so we're basically the axis powers here. If they give you shit, I'll give them something to shit about." This time it was Ryan's turn to burst out laughing. 

.

"Well… ready?" Shane asked, offering his right hand. He held the time travel essentials bag in his other hand. For the first time before going into the unknown, he had nerves. This was supernatural, sure, and he _shouldn't_ be afraid of it, in theory. But the past day and a half were almost too much for one person to handle. He also had to be there for Ryan. Just get through the day, and they would be okay. 

Ryan sighed, settling his wild nerves. He wasn't as nervous as he thought he'd be. He took Shane's hand, and they dropped down between them. 

Blindly searching with their feet, they went up the first step. 

Then the second. 

Then the third. 

They felt the sunlight before they opened their eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed Banjo McClintock to Billy because that seemed a... less out-of-place name for a time traveller, lol. Now these next chapters will be a little harder to write, because I'll be deviating a lot from the plot of 11/22/63 and trying to make common points I can put in before drama really starts happening... wish me luck ;-;


	4. Now They're In It

Sunlight beat down on them. Workers in blue coveralls poured out of the factory across the street. Girls giggled. The milkman's hand slipped and he broke a bottle, cursing at the mess. A pink and white car cruised by, engine revving softly. From the radio drifted _stay, just a little bit longer…_

The man who had yelled at them during their first trip again spoke from behind them. "Y'all aren't supposed to be here. Who are you?" He scratched at his stubble as he squinted at them. 

Shane shot a glare back at the man. "Nobody you need to know." He tugged Ryan's hand in the direction he began walking before letting go. 

Now numb to the repetition of their current surroundings, they attempted to blend in. Al had filled them in on where to go first: a small convenience store by the name of Kennebec Fruit Company. 

When they found the unassuming building at the end of the block, they let themselves in. Inside, there was the smell of fresh fruit, coffee, and tobacco. A small comic stand stood near the counter, and behind the counter stood a tall man wearing rimless bifocals. He was wiping down the counter in careful motions. He peeked at them over the lenses of his glasses. 

"Howdy, friends." He said. He gave them a once-over as he finished wiping down the counter. 

Ryan, attempting to be a little more brave, initiated conversation. "Howdy yourself. Ricky Goldsworth," he held out his hand for the man to take it, which he did. "And this here's my friend Billy McClintock." He shook Shane's hand. 

"What brings you guys here?" 

_Business was an enigma, back then. Better to use it as an excuse. People usually don't pry,_ Al had said, in regards to what their profession would be before they found a _real_ profession to fund their excursion through the past.

"We're here on business, actually. We'll be attending a convention in, uh, Flagstaff next week." Ryan hoped his lie was convincing enough. 

The tall man nodded. "Where you folks coming from?" 

"Illinois," Ryan said, a half lie since Shane was from there. Maybe his knowledge of that area would be helpful later on. 

"Oh, that's a ways away. You folks need a refreshment before you're on your way?" 

"Actually, we're hoping to stay somewhere in town for the night. Do you know any good motels for us to stay?" 

The man's face turned questioning. "You mean a motor court?" 

Catching the mistake, Ryan smiled nervously. "Yeah… we call 'em motels back up in Illinois."

The man nodded thoughtfully. "Well, there's a place just down the street a few miles called the Tamarack Motor Court." He paused for a second before adding, "If you two need to clean up a bit before heading down, try Baumer's Barber Shop down the block."

"Thanks for the tips, Mr..?" 

"Anicetti, Frank Anicetti. Good to meet you too, Mr. Goldsworth and Mr. McClintock. Have a fine day, now." 

"You too!" Ryan called as he and Shane left the store again. 

As Ryan sighed from nerves, Shane smiled at him, elbowing his side. "Good work back there, Ricky. Let's go get our beard on. Or off, I guess." He handed Ryan a wad of money, his portion of their budget. He pocketed it, noting to himself to get a wallet when they went shopping for clothing. 

The trip to the barber's was an experience for them both. The old-fashioned atmosphere was comforting, as were the chrome-accented chairs they were sat in as they took their turns. The old men hanging in the waiting chairs had newspapers in their hands and cigarettes in their mouth. The barber was also smoking. The haze gave a dreamy atmosphere to the place as it drifted through the sunshine coming in from the windows. 

First was Shane. Baumer cleaned up the edges of his hair and shortened his facial hair with an electric razor. The top of his hair was scissor-trimmed with precision. Then a warm towel was placed on his face for a minute or so to soften the coarse hair. The barber then went to work with brushed-on shaving cream and a straight razor. He smoked as he worked, one eye squinted against the smoke while he worked one stroke at a time. 

When he was finished, Shane was stunned. In the mirror, he twisted and turned his face, wide eyed, catching his newly trimmed hair and chin from nearly every angle. In 2019, cheap haircuts were easy to come by, but didn't include as much as this guy did without extra charges being piled on. 

Both he and Ryan participated in small talk with the barber (who asked questions like "What's your name?" "Where you from?" "How long you staying?"), which they answered simply and vaguely, Ryan kind of copying Shane's answers since he was the one to go first. Goldsworth and McClintock, in town on business, staying at Tamarack Motor Court, convention in Flagstaff next week...

Forty cents, they were each charged. 

"Are you shitting me?" Shane asked before he could catch himself. Baumer gave him a look for a second as he snubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray near the cash register. 

"Am I shitting you? Hm, must be another Illinois thing, huh?" The barber chuckled.

"Yeah," Shane glanced at Ryan, who pursed his lips and looked at him in a way that said _close one._ They each handed over some money for the haircut. 

"Be sure to come back if you come back through, alright?" Baumer said, sending a wave their way. They waved back. 

Only a couple storefronts down was a clothing store. Suits, ties, and dress shoes were all advertised in the front windows. 

So they went in. It seemed as if any time they went in somewhere, they had to introduce themselves to whoever was there. It was a way to get word around about themselves, Ryan supposed. Then people wouldn't be so wary. Wouldn't ask too many questions. 

They each were measured and given suits the correct size, only minimal questions being asked about their current clothing states. "Just been a while since I've been shopping for myself. We only recently got news we were supposed to be going to a business convention in Flagstaff," Shane concocted. The shopkeep only nodded in understanding, not reading too much into what was said, to their relief. 

When they were all done, each of them had a small briefcase, wallets, full suits with ties and dress shoes, and fashionable and functional hats. They both had to admit they looked slick as hell. 

As the shopkeep went over to the counter to add up totals, Shane leaned over to Ryan, whispering, "Damn, I look sexy as fuck." 

Ryan tried to smother his laugh, but snorted instead. 

.

Once they had checked into the Tamarack Motor Court, they locked themselves in the room, enjoying being cut off from the past for a little while. Behind closed doors, they could relax and not have to be Ricky and Billy. Finally, they could be Ryan and Shane. It had already taken so much out of them to live in the past. Everything was so foregin, right now. They had only been able to get a few hours of sleep each, if that, in the past couple days. Things started to sink in; things started to feel real. 

Shane laid on his back on top of the blankets of his bed, not bothering to do anything but take off his shoes and lay down for around an hour now. He was still awake, as was Ryan. Ryan, however, was trying to keep busy, looking through Al's time travel guides as he went through the days' events. Al? Dead. Time travel? Real. 1960? They were there, anomalies; out of their time, incorrect. 

They had to make a game plan, and quick. On the spot lies could only work for so long, Ryan knew. He sat on his bed, suddenly exhausted. 

Shane looked over, seeming to come back to the present (or, past). "Guess we better start writing things down, huh?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Y'know, like our personal account of what happens to us. We can compare it to Al's journey and do things he didn't do right. Avoid the violent past. Besides, you could write it like an episode of _Unsolved_. How about it?" 

Ryan sighed. "Well, it wouldn't hurt. Besides, if we have to come back through again, then we might as well know what'll happen." 

"Do you wanna sleep first? You look dead on your feet, baby." 

"First of all, don't call me baby," Ryan said with faux seriousness, pointing at Shane with a half smile. Shane smirked. "Second of all… probably." 

"We'll let future us worry about putting it together and current us worry about getting some rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> real drama will hopefully start next chapter, along with more explanations of their backstories. drama will definitely include meddling with the past in a way the past doesn't like.


	5. We Gotta Get Out of This Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the locations in this chapter are sourced from real life, so check out mr. d'z and kingman club in kingman, az :p thanks so much for all the kudos so far!

Their story went like this: 

1\. They were in town on business. They had taken a plane from Chicago to L.A., and decided to stay here for a bit before a business convention in Flagstaff.  
2\. They were army buddies. They had gotten jobs at the same company.  
3\. They planned on buying a used car to make it easier to travel down here and to travel back to Illinois. Neither of them had owned a car up in Illinois, relying on buses or taxis instead, but they both had licenses. 

All they had to figure out now was how to test out the Rabbit Hole's effects. Namely, what would happen if they tried to change the past. Al told them the reaction from the past depended on how big the change would be. They decided to change something small before going big. 

"Fuck, I bet it was a whole lot easier for Al to do this alone," Shane groaned. 

It was early in the morning, 7am, and they were up because they were so tired yesterday that they went to bed only an hour or so after they checked in at the Tamarack Motor Court. Thanks to time-travel jet lag, their bodies had roused them both from sleep around 6:30am, and so they decided to get up and focus on working out the kinks in their backstories. Both were on Shane's bed, with the files and information made by Al strewn across the surface of the bed. The blankets and pillows were pushed off of the bed. They sat next to each other, hunched over as they skimmed the maps, gambling predictions, and various information on the suspects surrounding the assassination of JFK that Al had compiled for them before his failure to "fix" the past. 

"Well, sure, it was easier for Al to run under the radar compared to us. Two dudes, army buddies, no wives?" Ryan sighed. 

"We definitely seem like two gay dudes tryna cover up their sexcapades." Shane said, feigning seriousness.

Ryan wheezed a laugh at that, pushing at Shane's shoulder. Shane smiled and looked down at the file containing the list of suspects in the assassination. 

First and foremost was, redundantly, Lee Harvey Oswald. Father of a baby girl named June and married to a woman named Marina, he had lived in two different locations in Dallas before November 11, 1963. The gun that was fired at JFK was also the same that had fired at General Edwin Walker earlier in 1963. To either clear his name or confirm he really was the assassin, Shane and Ryan had to be witness to the attempt on General Walker's life. Oswald's addresses, friends, and family members were included in his file. 

Among his friends was a man named George de Mohrenschildt. Al suspects he had been a CIA mole in Oswald's life to keep an eye on him, and spur him in the direction of action against Walker and Kennedy. Due to cancer, though, Al was not able to make it to the attempted Walker Assassination. This is where they were expected to pick up from: knowing half the story and in a race against time. Thing was, 1963 was three years away. They were in September 1960, and relatively close to the Rabbit Hole. It was a whole lot easier to reset. 

They both got ready for the day, using what measly toiletries were left to them in the motor court's bathroom. They added a toiletry kit to the list of what to get for the day, along with a lockbox for their time-travel sensitive information and a car to put all of it and themselves in. 

They checked out of the motor court and got directions from the man at the counter to the nearest car lot ("I recommend Titus Chevron, Bill Titus there has a lot full of good prices.") It was a little farther along, so they called a cab to take them there. When they were dropped off at the lot, they perused through the rows. One car in particular caught Ryan's eye. 

It was a Ford convertible, bright red with chrome accents and white-walled tires. A 1954 Sunliner, said the sign stuck to the windshield. 

A man, assumedly Bill Titus himself, walked up to them as they looked over the Ford. In his hands he held a handkerchief that once was bright red, like the car, but now was covered in grease stains. He wiped grease off his hands. 

"That one ain't bad, friends. Goes like a house afire, I can testify to that. Got it from Arlene Hadley over in Santa Ana after her husband died. Bill Hadley sure knew how to take care of his car, though." He noticed the confusion on their faces and narrowed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. "But you wouldn't know that, 'cause you two aren't from around here are you?" 

They both shook their heads. Shane, closer, offered his hand. "We're here from Illinois on business, and want a car that can get us where we're going around here and then back up to Illinois. Name's Billy McClintock." 

Ryan nodded from behind Shane. "Ricky Goldsworth." 

"Oh, I won't dirty up your hands by shaking 'em. Consider them shook. Bill Titus, pleased to make your acquaintance." He smiled at them, welcoming now that they had exchanged names. "So, you fellas buying then?" 

"I think so, Bill. How much is this beauty goin' for?" Shane asked. 

"Three-hundred and fifty dollars." 

Shane huffed a laugh, and wondered for a moment if he could fit a car through the Rabbit Hole. 

Bill quirked his eyebrow at Shane. "What do you say?" 

"I say that's perfect." 

"Cash or credit?" 

"Cash." 

.

In a half hour they were on their way, full tank of gas courtesy of Bill Titus, and new car courtesy of the savings Al had left for them. 

The car being old to them had its learning curves, given it was heavy, large and had manual transmission. Once they left the lot they pulled into an empty parking lot to read over the manual quickly, hoping to get the hang of using the car. They didn't want to seem obviously out of place. 

Thanks to Al, they had maps. Interstates were quickly emerging as the premier way to travel fast across the country. They stopped at a general store on the edge of town to grab a toiletry kit before they made their way in the direction of Flagstaff. Since they said they needed to be there, they might as well go there. It was already on their way to Dallas, and there was no harm in stopping. Maybe there, they'd be able to blend in better as strangers. The interconnectedness of the people here made them nervous, despite none of them having problems with the boys (at least on the surface). 

The wind in their hair and sun on their faces, they drove away from Los Angeles.

.

"What if we tried calling our parents?" Shane proposed. "Like from a pay phone?"

They made a stop for the night in Kingman, Arizona, staying in another motor court, this time with a motor to court. Arcadia Lodge boasted a pool and weekly low rates. 

Ryan shot him a look as he unpacked his things. "What, and create a time paradox?" 

Shane waved a hand dismissively. "Pff, if anything goes wrong we can always go back through the portal." 

"Which is now five hours away." 

"Which is an easy drive. Listen, it's not like we're seeing them in person or anything. _That_ would be bad. This is just a phone call, a - a wrong number." 

Ryan sighed and sat down on his bed. "...Then if something bad happens?" 

"We go back and start over. It's an experiment. What else would we do? I think trying to save some random person's life might do more harm than good and might make the past pissed." 

Ryan chewed at his lip. _Al said the past was violent if we tried to change things… but he wasn't specific. What would violent mean? It's not like the past is gonna send some minions after us because we call our parents… Unless…_

"You're looking preeeetty thoughtful over there, Bergara." Shane's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and Ryan looked troubled. Shane huffed at the sight and said, "Y'know what? Let's sleep on it, okay? We can think on it and decide tomorrow." 

Shane gave Ryan a once-over before he moved across the gap between their beds and sat beside Ryan. He slowly pulled him into a gentle hug, one hand between his shoulder blades and the other gently placed on his lower back. He tucked Ryan's head under his chin and hoped his touch was comforting. 

"Hey, just breathe. You're only in the middle of the past with _me._ " Ryan reciprocated the hug, and Shane took that as a good sign. They stayed like that for a moment, both of their eyes closing, relishing in the familiarity of each other. 

It was a few minutes before they pulled away from each other and resumed their unpacking and settling down for the night, anxiety levels significantly lowered. Shane looked across the room at Ryan, felt a twinge in his chest, and wondered what it was all about. 

.

The next day, they decided to peruse the local cuisine of Kingman, Arizona. When Al said _food, hell - everything tastes better,_ he wasn't wrong. Meals in the past were cheap and homemade, and the overall lack of artificial ingredients made flavors seem more substantial, somehow. 

Mr. D'z Route 66 Diner caught their eye, a spot of brightness among the Mojave. The outside walls were bright pink against teal, with an outside overhang home to a couple gas pumps. The large neon sign above the overhang was off in the late morning sun, but the sign was still clear. A stylized teal car was squeezed in on both sides by a root beer mug and a burger and fries. 

Ryan pulled open the entrance, and they walked onto a black and white checkered floor. The cushions of the stools, booths, and chairs were teal, and the moulding of the windows and door frames were all painted pink. They sat themselves side by side at the counter and felt a sense of déja vu. 

Both ordered burgers, perhaps feeling nostalgic for one of Al's, which they wouldn't be getting again. Although, Al sourced his meat from trips through the Rabbit Hole, so they figured it would at least taste similar. 

They also each ordered a mug of Mr. D'z Homemade Root Beer, and watched closely as the server took two frosty mugs from an ice cream freezer and filled them from a tap. The server paused for each mug to scrape off the foam before filling them up all the way. 

"You two want a scoop of ice cream in your 'beer? On the house. We like to treat tourists right." The server offered. 

They both had taken a sip, and the root beer was not only strong, but _sweet_. They both politely declined. 

The burgers came out looking like they were from an illustration. When they bit into them, they sighed like they usually did when biting into one of Al's burgers. They were right - similar taste. But, of course, nothing beat the original. 

When they were asked if they wanted dessert, they graciously accepted. Shane got a slice of cherry pie, and Ryan a slice of apple. Thin, flaky crusts crunched in their mouths and the fillings burst with fresh flavor. They knew they weren't eating from a can. Perkins had nothing on these pies. 

"How are the pies?" The server came back to ask. She wore a teal uniform with white frills, which looked straight out of Twin Peaks' Double R Diner. 

"These pies are insane," Ryan said through a mouthful of pie.

"Well, I sure hope that's a good thing," she replied, almost as a question.

He finished his bite. "Oh, yes, definitely - insanely _good_ , I mean." 

"Oh, okay," she said, even though her smile barely disguised her perplexed look. 

Shane was pressing his fork down on the remaining bits and pieces of his slice of pie when Ryan looked sheepishly over at him. He ate the dregs from his fork and then pointed it in Ryan's face as he said, "Smooth move, dork." 

.

Following dinner at the Kingman Club on the main drag, they lazily played pool and drank beer. It was almost comforting, doing something vaguely familiar to their time. Bars were an in-between space, where tourists and locals alike could co-exist without being familiar to each other. They could relax knowing they wouldn't be targeted with personal questions. 

They were each four beers in at around 10pm when they decided to call it a night. They had walked from the Arcadia, so they didn't have to worry about driving back to the motor court. As they walked, buzzed, Ryan spotted a phone booth at the end of the block and remembered Shane's suggestion to attempt to call his parents. He tugged Shane's sleeve and tipped his head toward it. 

"Are you sure?" Shane asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, why not try to fuck with the past a little?" Ryan said, shrugging. 

Shane nodded, and followed Ryan to the phone booth. He kept the door open, and Shane leaned on the door frame to watch and listen as Ryan asked the switchboard attendant to call up his dad's old place. He twisted the phone cord in his fingers and wondered when was the last time he did that.

When the line connected, Ryan immediately felt something odd in the pit of his stomach. The air changed around him, changed to something he couldn't place. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry, before saying, "Hello?" 

He listened for a reply, the phone pressed to his ear. Jagged sounds and voices came from the other side of the line, and he kept trying to talk even as the static on the other end became louder. The sound in the call flickered as the lights in the booth did.

The white noises stopped. 

A dark voice came loud and clear through the receiver. 

" _YOU DON'T BELONG HERE_." 

Ryan's breath caught in his throat. He let the receiver fall from his hand. It was caught by the cord and swung against the side of the booth. He stumbled back, heart pumping hard, gasping for breath. Shane tugged him out of the booth and gripped him by the shoulders, noticing his partner's sudden change in demeanor. He had never seen Ryan afraid like this. 

"Ryan, calm down - it's me, I'm here." Shane tried to establish eye contact, reaching a hand up to softly cup his cheek, but Ryan's eyes darted around, wild with fear. The only sign that Ryan knew he was there was when his fingers wrapped around Shane's upper arms and gripped tight. 

Ryan's head was spinning. Any air in his lungs felt foreign. He felt like vomiting.

They didn't belong here. 

"Say something, please, Ry, I - " Shane began, but was startled by bright lights swinging towards them. He squinted against the light, bringing a hand up to block the light from his eyes. 

Within two seconds, Shane's eyes widened as he registered what was coming towards them; he tugged Ryan from in front of him to his side and attempted to get them as far from the phone booth as he could, tumbling them both back on their asses in the grass.

Both their bodies froze as they watched a speeding car skip over the curb, tilting in midair. It landed harshly on its side and slid through the phone booth, rendering it to nothing more than twisted metal and broken glass. The impact caused the car to be redirected to the street again. As it skidded to a stop, the sound of metal and glass scraping against asphalt was deafening to their ears. 

Then everything was silent. 

Shane released the breath he had been holding. With the light from the booth gone, their only source of light was a single street light shining down on the wrecked car. 

Shane moved. He ran full tilt towards the car, assessing the damage and trying to see if anyone was inside. The side was dented in multiple places, paint scratched off in long strokes and metal twisted from multiple impacts. The front was the worst, dented deeply. Only one headlight continued to shine. The left side of the windshield was caved in like a skull, spiderwebbed glass bowing inwards but not breaking from itself. The right side was shattered, causing the wide spread of broken glass that crunched as he walked over it. He stepped over a side mirror that was severed from the car, reflection shattered. 

A person laid on the ground, a few feet from the car, hidden from where they had been standing but in full view of the single street light. 

Blood gushed down her face, a head wound visible on her left temple and shards of glass embedded in her face. Her nose was busted and blood flowed down in her cupid's bow and over her lips. Freshly spilled blood marred her yellow dress matching the yellow of the car. She laid sprawled on the asphalt, missing a shoe and tights ripped in multiple places, one where her leg was bent a way it shouldn't be and bone poked out of her skin. Her eyes were closed. 

Shane rushed to her side, carelessly kneeling down in broken glass. He was shaking, he realized, as he surveyed the damage to her body, hands hovering in midair. He heard Ryan approach from behind, a choked sound coming from his throat at the sight. 

When Shane was just about to touch her, her eyes snapped open. 

She harshly whispered, "You don't belong here."

Shane recoiled and nearly screamed, crawling backwards on his hands, glass stabbing his palms and fingers. He almost couldn't break eye contact with her, until he felt Ryan pull him up. Then they were running. 

Running back to the hotel.

Shane locked the door tightly and barricaded it with one of the beds haphazardly dragged in front of it. He closed the curtains and locked the windows. 

Shane stepped back after the rush of desperate strength. He wobbled and fell to his shaky knees. He dragged himself to the trash can by the television, which he vomited in until he could no longer puke anything up but trails of saliva. 

They didn't belong here. 

Ryan sat back against the other bed, limbs too heavy for him to move. He heaved in breath after breath, attempting to fill his lungs, but the suffocating pressure on his chest made it increasingly difficult. He felt like fainting. His ears rang, muffling the sound of Shane vomiting. 

They didn't belong here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you fuck with the past, the past fucks you right back. it's time for the boys to have their first dose of trauma. title inspired by a song by the animals.


	6. The Tracks of My Tears

Shane clutched the trash can as he waited for the convulsing in his gut to cease. Cold sweat collected on his forehead. 

What the _fuck_ did they just witness? 

When he did let go of the trash can, he limply rolled over onto his back in the middle of the floor, breathing heavily. He stared up at the ceiling without really seeing it, because the room was spinning. It was a few moments before he realized tears were leaking from his eyes. He didn't stop them. 

Ryan still sat propped up against the bed that wasn't barricading the door. He let his head fall back, also staring at the ceiling. His chest still felt tight, and he was able to lift his arms for long enough to pull the tie from around his throat. Then he let them drop, tie dangling from his fingers as he continued to hyperventilate. 

Shane finally processed that the desperate breaths he was hearing weren't just from him, but also Ryan, and he turned his head toward the sound. He swallowed dryly and rolled over, limbs like jelly. He dragged himself over to Ryan. 

Ryan felt like he was going to faint. He was too drained to tremble. When Shane touched him, though, he nearly jumped out of his skin, head snapping up. Without saying anything, Shane squeezed his hand gently as if to say _I'm here._ He cupped the back of Ryan's head with one hand and then pulled Ryan's hand up to his chest. 

"Breathe," Shane said, barely a whisper and scratchy from vomiting. Ryan's eyes flickered around before meeting his eyes. Shane shakily took a breath, and Ryan followed, registering what was in front of him. They shakily exhaled together. They continued, focused only on each other. The suffocating pressure slowly loosened its grip from Ryan's chest. 

It was when Ryan's clouded mind began clearing when he noticed the tracks of Shane's tears. He lifted up a heavy hand and clumsily wiped at them with his thumb. Shane flinched at the initial contact, but then he closed his eyes and brought his head forward so their foreheads touched. Shane's hand was still wrapped around the back of Ryan's neck, tangled in the short hairs. 

For a moment they were silent, breathing together, Ryan's hand cupping Shane's cheek. Shane's eyes were closed and his mouth was pressed in a thin line, jaw clenched. Shane suddenly let out a sob and wrapped his arms around Ryan, clutching at the fabric of his jacket with desperate fingers. He tucked his face in the crook of Ryan's neck. Ryan's limbs were lighter, now, and immediately reciprocated the hug, wrapping up and around his shoulders, gripping at his jacket. Shane muffled his sobs into his neck, and Ryan felt a different tug at his heart. He let a few tears trail down his face, silent except for his trembling lips. 

They stayed like that for a while, clutching each other. They felt more alone in the past now than they felt when they first went through the Rabbit Hole. They were in real danger, and they didn't know what to do. 

When Shane's crying began to subside, Ryan lifted a hand up to Shane's head and softly caressed his hair. Shane's grip loosened a little, but still held fast to the fabric of his jacket. He let out a shaky sigh into his neck.

Ryan lifted his head a little so his lips were near Shane's ear and softly said, "It's okay." Shane curled a little further into Ryan. Ryan leaned his head against Shane's and closed his eyes. 

He tried to convince himself that they were safe, for now. 

.

Ryan didn't know how long it had been, but he definitely hadn't gone to sleep. His anxiety kept him awake. He couldn't tell if Shane had gone to sleep or not, but didn't want to disturb him. The only light on in the room was the lamp beside the television, which made the other corners of the room eerily dark. He warily kept his eyes on those. 

Shane stirred and pulled away from Ryan. He went to lean back on his hands but winced when he felt the pieces of glass still stuck in his hands. With his mind more clear, he numbly lifted his hands to look at them. Dried blood collected under larger cuts. 

He stared at them for longer than he should have, because Ryan stood, pulling Shane to the bathroom. It was there he carefully helped Shane get any shards left over out of his hands. They clinked on the porcelain of the sink when he dropped them, using the light above the sink to look for any hidden cuts. Then, with the measly first aid kit in the bathroom, Ryan used thin gauze to wrap the worst parts of Shane's hands after he had washed them. 

They stood cramped in the small bathroom for a moment, Ryan finishing wrapping Shane's palm, where the worst cuts were. "Are we… going back?" 

Shane nodded. "We… have to reset." 

Ryan continued cradling Shane's hand in his after he was done, eyes distant. "...I'm scared." 

"You're always scared," Shane said half-heartedly, smile not going up to his eyes.

Ryan met his eyes and Shane's smile dropped. "Not like this." 

Shane averted his eyes. He felt too large in the space suddenly, Ryan's eyes focused on him. "I shouldn't have suggested you call them in the first place." 

"No, don't do that..." Ryan sighed, voice lowering even more, like the walls could hear. Like someone was listening. "Now we know. ...Shane, what if something worse happens when we try saving JFK?" 

Shane met his eyes then. "We'll… we'll figure that out after we come back. We… gotta focus on going back. I don't want to sleep here tonight." 

Ryan was usually the one to suggest whether to sleep or not sleep in a location, but this reversal of roles accentuated the seriousness of their situation. 

"We drive back now?"

Shane nodded. 

"Can we make it?" 

"Better than staying here, isn't it?" 

Ryan had no argument with that. 

.

The road was nearly dead at 2:14am as they sped down the highway. They kept to the speed limit for the most part, rushing to get back to their time to reset everything but also wary of ending up like the yellow dress girl. 

Shane took the first shift, hoping Ryan would get some shuteye, but it seemed Ryan wasn't going to sleep tonight. He sat up with him, radio softly playing music but mostly drowned out by the sounds of the car and wind rushing by. He looked numbly out the windshield, jumping at anything too loud. If they went over any bumps, he would visibly tense. 

When it was Ryan's turn, he gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. Shane eyed them nervously and studied Ryan's profile, which showed Ryan intermittently clenching his jaw. He watched the road intensely.

They didn't talk for the whole ride back to the location of Al's Diner. 

.

When they pulled into the empty lot where Al's Diner didn't exist (yet), they took their belongings with them as they approached the spot where the Rabbit Hole was. They felt with their feet, shuffling around in the gravel to find the invisible stairs. 

Ryan's foot hit it first, and he waved Shane over. When Shane approached, he shifted his things into one arm to be able to hold Ryan's hand. When he was stood beside Ryan, he squeezed his hand to let him know he was ready. 

They took the steps.

When they stumbled into the pantry of Al's Diner, they immediately collapsed to their knees in relief and exhaustion, suitcases and bags falling from their hands and arms. 

Ryan immediately pulled Shane into a tight hug, things forgotten for the moment, screwing his eyes shut as he gripped tightly at his jacket and tucked his face into his shoulder. He willed himself not to cry, but felt the tears coming. Shane cradled the shorter man, one arm around his back and one carding through his dark hair. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, ignoring the pain in his knees from kneeling. He heard strained noises from Ryan's throat and guessed he was trying not to cry. 

When the dam burst, Ryan tried to burrow further into Shane's embrace. Shane felt Ryan's hot, stressful breaths against his neck and continued to card his fingers through Ryan's hair to calm him down. 

When he calmed down, he leaned against Shane like a ragdoll. He pulled away slightly, forehead barely on Shane's shoulder. 

"What if we don't go back?" Ryan whispered. 

Shane was taken aback by the suggestion. "What? Ry -" 

"We could've _died_."

Shane clamped his mouth shut again, thinking. Then, "We go back, we get a job, blend in. Gamble occasionally with the booklet Al gave us. We don't get close to other people. We can avoid trouble." 

"But when we get closer and closer to Oswald and Dallas and 1963, we won't be able to reset as easily. We drove back five hours on no sleep. What do we do if something happens in Dallas?" 

Shane sighed. He pulled Ryan away from him so he'd lift up his head. Shane wiped the tears from his face with thumbs and a pulled up sleeve and Ryan smiled softly at the gesture. "We can always make it work. This is supernatural, and we're seeing it firsthand. You've been searching for this - _we've_ been searching for this. It's terrifying and it's unfamiliar and we don't know how it works yet, but we'll find out. We know things nobody else knows. I believe in this. I know you do too." When he said _this_ , Ryan had a feeling he meant _us_. 

Ryan chewed his lip in thought. "Maybe we can just… stay in L.A. for a while, until Oswald moves to Dallas." He thought a little more. "We can get jobs as journalists, maybe."

Shane beamed. "See, we can do this. I don't think the past is out to kill us, Ryan, it just… doesn't like us messing with stuff. It wants to scare us. If it really wanted us dead, we'd be, uh… be dead." 

Ryan wheezed a laugh, also smiling. "I'm just worried… I don't wanna do all this for, y'know, nothing. Or die trying…" He wiped at his eyes. 

"Hey, we'll be doing it together, so it's you and me Bergara, 'til the end of the line." 

Ryan nodded. "'Til the end of the line." 

Shane slapped his knees with a "Welp," standing up and offering a hand to Ryan. "Ready to go back to the past?" 

Ryan took Shane's hand. 

.

When they stepped through to 1960, squinting at the sudden brightness and carrying their bags, they immediately walked to a phone booth to call up the same taxi they called in their last iteration. They asked to be taken to the Tamarack Motor Court, where they were given the same room. There, they resolved to get the same car and find a place to settle in L.A. The only question was where. 

They bought a few different newspapers and searched the wanted ads for any place they could take. There were a few offers they circled, including one in downtown Los Angeles near Pershing Square. That one sounded the most promising. 

Later in the day, Ryan took a walk to the nearest corner store and bought himself a notebook and a nice pen. He wanted to chronicle their lives in the past, especially to help keep track of how many resets they would take. If they knew how their actions affected the past, they would be better prepared. They could determine what paths led where, and could have a timeline for success if they got farther along and needed to reset, to make it easier to get to the same point.

Ryan spent the rest of the day writing, while Shane slept soundly in his bed. Ryan knew he was tired, and very nearly fell asleep on his work a few times, but resisted the urge and kept working until he had caught up to their present. When he finally did, he sighed and laid his head on his arm. He fell fast asleep immediately. 

When Shane woke up a few hours later and noticed Ryan's bed untouched, he sat up. Across the room, he saw Ryan was dead to the world at his desk and he chuckled to himself. He tossed the blankets from over his legs and got up, taking off his clothes he had been wearing for almost two days and tossing off to the side to be washed sometime soon. He changed into pajamas - which, for him, was just stripping to his boxers. They probably did have to get actual pajamas soon, since men were expected to wear the full pajama sets instead of just boxers or an old shirt, maybe. If he answered the door in just boxers, he'd probably get a weird look and assumptions made about the nature of his and Ryan's friendship. They had a running to-do list near Ryan, so Shane delicately took the pen from Ryan's fingers and wrote it down as another bullet point. 

Shane gently touched Ryan's shoulder and whispered, "Ryan. Get up." 

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut more, but after an insistent shake from Shane, opened his eyes and looked up. His glasses were smushed up his face at a weird angle, and when Ryan saw who it was waking him, he sat up with a deep breath, fixing the frames on his face. "How… long was I out?" He asked as he stretched and yawned.

Shane shrugged. "I just woke up. Noticed you weren't in bed, and you were dead asleep on all your hard work." He gestured in front of Ryan.

Ryan hummed in response, clumsily gathering up his notes and Al's folders and shoving them in their lockbox again. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. 

Shane watched, leaning one hand on the small table in the room. He smiled to himself and ruffled Ryan's hair as he turned back to his bed, saying, "Get to bed, Bergara." 

Ryan waved Shane off and fixed his hair, but smiled. He turned to see Shane crawl back into bed, wrapping himself in the blanket like a burrito and facing away from Ryan. 

He locked the lock box and went to the bathroom to peel off his two-day-old clothes. When he was finally down to his boxers he breathed a sigh of relief at the unrestricted movement. Man, did he miss t-shirts. They'd have to get some casual clothes the next time they were out. He went to write it on the list and smiled when he noticed Shane's addition. Ryan added an arrow pointing to "pajamas" after he added in "casual clothing." 

Before he crawled into bed, Ryan stood and stared at Shane for a second, mind churning. Shane had fallen asleep again, face slack and breathing slow and deep. He watched him for a few seconds and reflected on the way Shane acted during the last day and a half. He hoped he wouldn't have to go through something like that again, but he was grateful he didn't have to do it alone. 

Ryan crawled into bed, facing away from Shane, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title inspired by a song by smokey robinson & the miracles. i hope you enjoyed the aftermath to the phone booth incident~ these boys got each other's back for sure.


	7. Nobody Gets Me But You

Shane awoke with a start from a dream he couldn't remember. He was sweating and tangled in his sheets, so he assumed it was probably a nightmare. He sat up, dragging a hand over his face and sighing. He closed his eyes, grasping for any memories of the dream, but found nothing. He dismissed his curiosity and focused on the present. 

When he picked up his watch on the end table, he realized he didn't change the time when they reset, so he tossed it back on the table and detangled himself from his sheets. 

Ryan was still asleep in the other bed when Shane looked over. He laid on his back, head tilted to the side, breathing even and soft. Shane decided to begin his day without waking Ryan. He'd wake him once he was done getting ready. 

The first thing Shane did after showering was shave. Their shaving kit offered a small mirror, nail file and clipper, a clothing brush and hair brush, pre-shave oil, shaving cream, aftershave, a straight razor, and a safety razor. Shane assumed the last member of his family to use this type of razor would be his grandfather, and struggled to use it immediately. But, with a little tinkering, he figured out the top opened when you twisted the end of the handle. He set one of the five blades given with the set inside the razor head, and then twisted the end of the handle the other way to shut it again. He applied shave oil before the shave cream. 

It was a bit rocky after that, as he got used to moving the razor, since it didn't have the auto-tilt mechanics and multi-blade action of the future. He was grateful for not having to use the straight razor, even if he did have it as an option. He was pretty sure he would risk accidentally nicking his throat in the wrong place and bleeding out. 

He came out the other end with a decently close shave. As he applied aftershave, he flinched when it stung the apparently unhealed cuts left on his fingers from their adventure in Kingman. He had even been careful while applying shaving cream. He gritted his teeth through the sting and then realized, _damn, I smell nice._

He dressed for the day, putting on socks before he pulled on his slacks. He tucked in his undershirt and button down before putting a belt on. He slipped on his neutral dress shoes, and decided to keep with just the button down for the day. He didn't want to be walking around sweating in his full suit. 

When he left the bathroom, he found Ryan up and flipping through the television channels, their only modern comfort. Without their smartphones, there was no googling or handheld entertainment, and they were still trying to get used to it. They'd have to get books or something to kill time. Ryan got up and grabbed fresh clothing to bring to the bathroom. 

After Ryan had showered, he poked his head out the door and sheepishly asked, "How the fuck do I use this razor?" 

Shane demonstrated and Ryan nodded before disappearing into the bathroom again. As he waited for Ryan to be done, he heard a few hisses and rolled his eyes, assuming Ryan cut himself a few times. 

"Did you use the shave oil?" Shane called in the direction of the bathroom as he watched the news. 

"The what?" 

Shane chuckled and shook his head. 

.

Their foray into town gave them a rush of déja vu. They bought the same car from the same dealer who said the same things to them, and they went and bought some casual clothing from the same place they bought suits. Their exact suits were still on the rack, which they hoped the shopkeep wouldn't notice. There they bought some sport shirts with different patterns and colors for casual wear. 

They had reserved their current room at the Tamarack for three days, which only cost them around $15. But, with having to re-buy their transportation again, they knew they had a dent in their savings that should be filled sooner rather than later. 

First, they wanted to stay in Los Angeles for a while. They knew the area (for the most part) and decided to pursue employment in journalism. They knew for sure searching for a job would be difficult for them, since hiring for the 1960s was dependent on face to face interaction versus relying on digital submissions of resumes. There was also the issue of their lack of job experience they were able to reference in any capacity. They had experience, just not during this century. But, thanks to the love-thy-neighbor sentiment of the time they were in, it wouldn't be too difficult to weasel their way in with a few lies-but-not-really carried over from the future. 

The first step was to develop a resume that could easily be believed. Journalism was an easy thing to hack, which relied on skills more than evidence. _Excellent verbal and written skills, proficient in typing,_ etc. They could use the war as an excuse for their gap in employment, kind of, and they would say they built up their savings while in Illinois and decided to move to L.A. for a change of pace. They already looked like tourists as they got used to the new time they were in, so they would fit right in. The way the city would be unfamiliar yet familiar to them would be confusing only for a while, they supposed. 

Next was where to live. They needed a reasonably priced living situation, and money left over to furnish it for the time they stayed. Something with separate bedrooms for each other, and someplace they could keep their time-travel-sensitive items safe. A lockbox worked, for now, but it wouldn't work forever.

"How about we go check out the Rosslyn apartments?" Ryan suggested, leaning over to pull the newspaper with the circled ad. _Two bedrooms, living room, kitchen, laundry machines included, clean. $80/month,_ said the ad. "It's a good deal and it's smack dab in the middle of downtown." 

Shane, a different newspaper in hand, rested his chin in his other hand and took a hard look at the ad. Then he shrugged. "Sure, fuck it. We can go check it out tomorrow and if we like it, move in by the time our room here runs out." It was a little under 45 minutes to get there by car, and it would help them get used to what the inner city looked like before moving in. 

Ryan agreed before going to work on his notes for the day. It was currently a mess, but considering what they went through in the span of four days or so, he thought the notes were pretty well adjusted. Some notes at the end, though, were just indecipherable scribbles that probably were words, but he didn't know what. The ramblings of a tired Ryan. Since there wasn't much to add, he quickly wrote down bullet points, of which included _shaved with a safety razor. remember to use shave oil next time._

They had quieted down for the day, which meant this was the time Ryan's mind started to wander. Back to Kingman. Back to when the car slid into the phone booth and if it were a few seconds or so earlier he would have been crushed with the twisted metal and glass - 

He shook his thoughts from his head. They reset. That was gone, now. The past had no reason to mess with them. They were simply existing, for now. 

That night, Ryan Bergara thought about who he wanted Ricky Goldsworth to be. 

.

As they drove deeper into Los Angeles the next day to look at the Roslynn, they found snippets of streets and buildings they recognized from their contemporary. Most of the city was only vaguely familiar, since the businesses they knew would not be in existence for thirty to forty more years. It gave them a sense of belonging in the past, and with it, a sense of hope.

When they arrived at the Roslynn, they walked in and up to the counter, saying that Billy and Ricky were interested in the ad for the apartment for rent. 

"Of course, follow me. My name is Terry, let me show you up," said the person at the desk, who was a little more than middle aged man. He wore a suit that was loose on him and he slouched a little, but he was quick on his feet as he walked them to the elevator. 

"How long will you folks be stayin'?" 

"Oh, at least a year." Ryan said, giving a so-so gesture with one hand, the other tucked in his pocket. "We wanted a change of pace from Illinois, and we're hoping that if we keep to downtown, it'll be easier to settle in and get a job." 

"Well, you're not wrong about that. But beware of some bars 'round here, it's often popular for the, uh - " he lowered his voice, "homosexuals." 

Ryan and Shane exchanged a confused look when the elevator door opened on the fourth floor. _Homosexuals?_ Shane mouthed, shaking his head disappointedly. _That's not PC._

Ryan pressed his lips tight to resist a laugh as he followed Terry down the hallway, insistently beckoning Shane to follow. Terry had a big loop of string where he kept his keys, and knew exactly which key was the correct one, surprisingly, because he got it on the first try.

"On the inside we have other locks you can use. This building's old, but she's solid." 

Terry was right, for as they closed the door behind them they saw not only a chain lock, but also a swing bar lock. Better than just the deadbolt. 

The main hallway was narrow and split off into many doors, their immediate right being a closet, and the next right being the kitchen. On the left was one door which led to the bathroom. At the end of the hallway, the apartment opened up into the living room. In the living room, to the left, were two doors leading to the bedrooms. The window out of the living room was connected to the fire escape. On the right side, tucked into a corner, was a closet that had laundry machines. The apartment was furnished, if you counted "furnished" as a television set and a decrepit chair in the living room, a radio on the kitchen counter, and two beds barely big enough for them in the bedrooms. 

"You can keep the stuff the other tenants left behind. The television set isn't too bad, but if you use it a lot, you might wanna get another one. There's a $20 deposit for damages, but otherwise, it's yours for $80 a month." 

Shane and Ryan looked around from the middle of the living room, hands in pockets, contemplating. Terry dismissed himself and said he'd be back in five minutes, which would give them enough time to decide. 

The bedrooms were a bit small, but the living room was nice and big. One bathroom wouldn't really be an issue for them, since they were used to sharing a bathroom on investigations. They could furnish the apartment as they lived in it, but they did have beds, a couch, and entertainment. The location and the proximity of "homosexuals" didn't bother them, and if it meant people would be less likely to delve into their living space and, therefore, their lives, the easier it would be to fly under the radar. 

"Should we take it, Ricky?" Shane asked, pulling open random drawers in the kitchen. "Hey, we got some silverware in here." He slapped a spoon and butter knife on the counter with a chuckle.

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Sure, it'd be a good base of operations. We can probably also get a real safe to keep all of Al's shit in. It'd be a lot better than having to live out of a motel room." 

"Then we're taking it?" Shane asked, swinging out of the kitchen by the doorframe, face open and expectant like a kid. 

"Sure, fuck it." Ryan said with finality, smiling when Shane smiled at him. 

They put down the money for it, including the deposit money, and told Terry they'd move in later that day. 

When they moved in, it was easy. They plunked down their two suitcases, briefcases, and lockbox in the middle of the living room. They got some takeout chinese food, and messed with the television while sitting on the floor eating. They finally got _Bewitched_ after struggling with the antenna for about five minutes. 

When it was time for bed, they dragged out their tiny, bare mattresses and covered themselves with their suit jackets they wore for the day and used bunched up slacks as pillows. They still hadn't bought pajamas, so they slept in their day clothes, minus shoes and belts. Even though the apartment was a little empty, they made quick work of making themselves at home. 

They had everything they needed for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the roslynn is a real place, and i felt it was kinda the perfect place for them to be. it's nearish to important historical lgbt places in l.a., and there will be more info on their proximity to the lgbt community in future chapters. i also found out that takeout was invented in l.a., which is a cool fun fact. thanks to everyone who's reading, and remember to leave kudos!


	8. Seeing All Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out the playlist i made for this fic!  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1q0NasvHYHlCwyOUAArsQ0?si=DOOlbnl6Qd-fDJqHVwuOUA

"Ricky, Mr. Harold will see you now," announced the secretary. Ryan composed himself as he was led to the office, putting on his persona. Ricky Goldsworth was hopefully going to get an entry-level job today at the Los Angeles Times. 

When he walked in, he scanned the room. Wood paneling, large windows, and a desk in front of him. Mr. Harold looked a little older than Ryan was, with slicked back brown hair and a neat suit. 

Ryan approached and reached out his hand, saying, "Hello, Mr. Harold, I'm Ricky Goldsworth." His handshake was firm, and reciprocated by Harold. "May I sit?" Ryan asked. 

"Please do, Ricky." Harold gestured at the swivel chair in front of the desk. Ryan sat, nerves tingling in his fingertips. 

"I see you applied for the copy editor position." Harold sat and looked down at the paper in front of him, which included a cover letter and resume for Ricky. 

"Yessir." 

"No education?" 

"Other than high school, no sir. After the War, I just focused on building up some savings before coming here for a change of pace. Not much going on in rural Illinois for an aspiring journalist." Ryan chuckled, hoping the lighthearted joke was helpful.

Harold nodded, scanning the papers again. Then his eyes peered over his glasses at him. "Got an address we can attach to your name?" 

"Yep, just recently moved into the Roslynn. Nice place, and so close, too." 

"Phone number?" 

"Oh, that should be up soon. I have to get it set up first." 

Harold paused for a moment and squinted at him. "What makes you think you're fit for the position, Ricky?" 

"I'm detail-oriented, self-driven, and dedicated. You can rely on me to get my tasks done to the best of my ability. I also delve into things not many other people are interested in." 

Harold leaned back in his chair, scanning Ryan and then held his gaze for a few seconds. 

"Sure, what the heck. You're hired. Welcome to the City of Angels, kid." Harold smiled, all trace of his image of intimidating boss gone.

Ryan tried to not sigh loudly in relief and instead let go of the breath he was holding before smiling back and reaching out again with his hand. "Gee, thanks, Mr, Harold. You won't regret picking me for the position." 

"See you at 9am on Monday, okay? Have a good day." 

"You too." 

Ryan let his smile fall a little as he left the room, a little bewildered at the interaction. That sure was fucking easy. He knew it was only an entry-level position, but still - a job meant money and time consistently accounted for, so he and Shane could get used to living in this time period. 

From the Los Angeles Times building to the Roslynn was only a ten-minute walk, which would be easy to do in the constantly warm climate of Los Angeles. 

When Ryan walked into the Roslynn, took the elevator, and opened the door to their apartment, number 505, he was stopped by the chain on the door. He pulled his key from the lock and called Shane's name through the crack. He heard frantic footsteps before the door swung closed, the chain was moved out of its slot, and Shane opened the door. 

"Sorry, I did that just in case." Shane said sheepishly. He wore a striped sport shirt tucked into brown slacks, but just wore patterned socks on his feet. 

Ryan closed the door behind him and slid off his shoes, then shook his jacket from his arms, which he hung in the coat closet, using one of three hangers they owned. 

"How'd the interview go?" Shane called from the kitchen. 

"I got the job!" Ryan called back, smiling.

Shane poked his head out of the doorway. "No way! That was only your third interview, lucky ass." 

"Can't help if people like Ricky Goldsworth," Ryan said, walking to the kitchen and leaning on the doorway, tucking his hands in his pockets. 

Shane was making eggs and bacon for both of them, two eggs and four slices each. "Well maybe I'll apply there as a reporter. My whole thing can be that Billy McClintock ain't afraid of nothin' and that'll be what gets them good stories." 

Rolling his eyes, Ryan retorted, "This isn't Scooby Doo, Shane…" 

"What if we brought it to pop culture early?" Shane said, giving him a sly look. 

"Good luck with that. Put in your application today, then maybe in the next couple weeks we can work together." He stood straight from leaning and walked to the living room to sit down.

It had been a week or so since they moved in, and even though they were stretching their money thin, they were still able to furnish the living room a little bit. The decrepit chair stood unused in the corner, but they replaced the television set and got a decent couch and two chair set. Their coffee table was wood with tapered legs. Cups still sat on them from the past few days. As for their bedrooms, they finally got bed sheet sets for both, pillows, and pajamas to top it all off. They were getting more and more comfortable in 505, and it started to feel a little more like home. 

Shane heard Ryan flick on the television as he finished cooking brunch. It was a little past eleven, since Ryan's interview had been at 10:30. They sat together on their new couch and ate while flipping through channels. 

Ryan got up after they had been done eating for a bit to bring their dishes to the sink. Then he made a beeline for his bedroom, taking off his tie in the process and flopping down on his bed, feet dangling off the edge, sunshine coming in unhindered through the window, since they hadn't bought curtains yet. He turned his face away from the sunlight and snuggled into his pillow. 

Since Ryan evidently needed a nap, Shane took a walk down to the L.A. Times and dropped off his application in person, being as kind as he could to the receptionist. 

On his way back, Shane's eye caught on a place called _Cooper's Do-nuts_ , in between a place called _Harold's_ on the left and _The Waldorf_ on the right. He was only about a block away from the Roslynn, and he contemplated the clubs as a place to celebrate once they both got jobs. Besides, a donut place would be a good place to nurse a hangover. 

.

"Mr. Harold will see you now, Billy," announced the secretary. Shane stood and followed her to the door of Mr. Harold's office, composing himself in an attempt to boost his confidence. 

When he walked in, the door was closed behind him and he approached the desk. 

"Hello, Mr. Harold. My name is Billy McClintock. It's very good to meet you." He held his hand out and was immediately met with a firm handshake, which he reciprocated with what he hoped was enthusiasm. Shane sat down. 

"Good to meet you too, Billy." Mr. Harold sized him up with a stare before asking, "What experience makes you think you're qualified for this position?" 

Shane clasped his hands in front of him. "I believe I take a healthy amount of risks in order to get to the bottom of stories. It's important to inform the public on matters that may be uncomfortable, but still important." 

Harold nodded. He twirled a pen in his fingers before saying, "You don't belong here, do you?" 

Shane felt his stomach drop at the words and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The words echoed in his mind and the room suddenly felt too expansive. 

He remembered blood, shattered glass. The stark white of bone standing out from flesh. Wide eyes fixed on him. 

_You don't belong here._

Shane's mouth twitched up in a nervous smile. "Well, I'm… from Illinois. If - if that's what you mean." 

The few seconds it took for Mr. Harold to answer made Shane wonder if the past was going to lash out again. Was he safe? He felt glued to his chair, but he knew it would only take him a few strides to get to the door. To escape. 

Then Mr. Harold answered. "That's what I figured. We don't usually get optimism from guys 'round here." 

Shane felt a shiver curl up his spine, but he was relieved at the reply. He widened his smile more akin to a genuine one. "Ah, I bet. The good ole heart of the U.S.A. tends to strike pride in your heart." 

Harold nodded. "Well, you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. You're hired. We do have a type of probation for reporters, so you better wiggle your way into some original stories soon, okay? You start on Monday. 9am sharp." 

Shane beamed, hiding the underlying queasiness he felt. 

When he completed his niceties and left the office, he composed himself for long enough to get to a bathroom before he vomited at the memory of twisted metal and a dangling phone receiver. 

.

Shane didn't mention any of that to Ryan. 

No, it would only make him worry. He was supposed to keep everything together and generally be the rock for Ryan. He was supposed to laugh incredulously at anything strange, to forfeit any idea of the supernatural. Being faced with the reality of the Rabbit Hole, though, was difficult in its own right, but for him it went against everything he could use to refute the fact they were now in the past, changing it from simply existing. 

It helped to suggest drinking as a way to celebrate their new positions at the same location. He could slip back into the flow of drinking and not worry about the next day until he woke up with a headache.

They ventured to Harold's, where Cooper's Do-nuts was smashed between Harold's and another bar, The Waldorf. "Harold" was displayed vertically on a sign that jutted out from the side of the building above the entrance. Otherwise, the building looked plain and unassuming. The eerie glow of the sign falling on patrons smoking outside of the bar. 

They waded through the people and the smoke to the entrance, where they showed their IDs to the door person. The scene when they walked in was hazy. They couldn't smell where perfumes began and colognes ended, but it all danced with cigarette smoke in their lungs.

The low yellow light made faces dim,made up of shapes of light and dark instead of distinct details. A jazz band played on a state on the far end, and Shane pushed through the crowd to the bar to get drinks before finding a place to sit. Ryan followed, focused more on the type of people they were wading through. 

There was a lot of casual clothing, characterized by jeans and large, dark boots, with simple shirts to top the wardrobe off. Jean jackets dominated most of the shoulders he pushed by, but leather also dominated in the form of hats and boots. Short cocktail dresses flowed over fishnets or simple stockings. What he primarily noticed, though, was the large amount of women learning into other women, or mens' arms wrapped around other mens' waists. Generally more gay affection than he expected in the time they were in, and so it hit him: they were for sure in a gay bar. 

The realization made him begin to sweat, not just from the heat of bodies around him, but also because he and Shane were two men who walked into a gay bar together. They obviously didn't know anyone else, so they would stay close, and he wondered if anyone would approach them to query what their relationship status was. The thought itself made him nervous. It wasn't as if he didn't feel that way about men - no, he had plenty of crushes on both men _and_ women - he was just afraid of onlookers assuming he and Shane were an item. 

Instead of letting his worry fester, he focused on following Shane through the crowd to the bar, where they bought cocktails? Afterwads, the problem was finding a place to sit. The music and chatter was loud, so Shane got close enough to his ear that Ryan could feel the heat of his breath. 

"Where should we sit?" Shane asked, a hand gently placed on his shoulder as he half-stooped down to project in his ear. 

A shiver went up Ryan's spine, but he tried to keep his composure and lifted to his tiptoes to scan over the crowd, but failed due to his height. He made a face of defeat and then turned to Shane, who turned his ear towards him. 

Ryan cupped a hand around Shane's ear so the taller man could hear as he said, "You're tall, _you_ find us somewhere to sit." 

Shane smirked and shook his head in faux contempt as he stood straight again. He looked around before apparently spotting a place to sit, because he casually took Ryan's hand. The contact sent a bolt of nerves right up to Ryan's panicky brain as Shane led him along as he beelined towards an empty table on the edges of the seating area. There they sat with relief and nursed their drinks, observing the crowd and listening to the live music.

Shane was the first to attempt conversation. He leaned over after making a face of realization and said, "Dude, I think we're in a gay bar." 

Ryan wheezed out a laugh and nodded, replying, "Yeah, I kinda noticed when we first walked in." 

Shane nodded, looking thoughtful. "Lots of good-lookin' people, I gotta say." 

Ryan rolled his eyes and focused on finishing his cocktail. Boy, this one was a bit heavy on the booze. Shane slurped his down just fine. 

Shane's eye caught someone approaching them, and raised an eyebrow as he took a long sip from his drink. 

The person wore lipstick in the midst of a five o'clock shadow, and a dress shirt tucked into dark slacks. Their gait was confident and sure, and they slid into the only other seat at their table, their martini glass clinking down onto the surface from one hand and the other tucked under their chin. 

"I haven't seen you two here before." Their green eyes scanned over Shane and Ryan, calculating and suave. "My name's Sasha." 

Stunned by the openness and spurred to an automatic response, Shane said, "My name's Billy McClintock. Sasha is a, uh, really pretty name." 

Sasha nodded with a smile and turned her head towards Ryan, quirking an eyebrow. "And you are..?" 

"Ricky, Ricky Goldsworth. We just moved to town." Ryan replied, also automatically, but the confidence Sasha exuded was refreshing and he perked up. 

"Where'd you two boys come in from?" 

"Illinois. We came here for better opportunities." 

"Well, there's plenty of those here, if you've got the right stuff." She crossed her legs and took a sip from her drink. "Midwestern yuppies like you come from pretty… close-minded crowds, right?" She raised an eyebrow.

Shane, more knowledgeable on the subject, replied, "Yeah, not a big… scene like this where we're from." 

Sasha nodded. "Pardon me for intruding, it just seemed like you two were a bit out of place. Thought I'd welcome you." 

"Of course," Shane acknowledged. 

They sat in silence then, nursing their drinks, watching the people around them, soaking up the music. Ryan looked over at Shane, and Shane met his eye. He lifted an eyebrow in a shrugging motion. Shane didn't mind the extra company, but he also wasn't sure what to do. He hadn't previously been to a gay bar, and he had to admit he did feel out of place. Not only was he out of his time, but he was out of his drinking element, too. 

The peaceful and vibrant air of the bar was suddenly interrupted when the front door burst open and panic rippled through the crowd. Whispers and shouts of "cops!" and "raid!" reached Shane and Ryan, and Sasha reacted with frustration. 

"Fuck, not this again." She said and knocked back the rest of her drink. She stood. "Let's go, I know how to get y'all out of here." 

"W-what?" Ryan asked, standing. People rushed past them to the back of the bar, music stopped and frantic voices filling the room. 

Sasha grabbed Ryan's hand and forcibly pulled him along, and Ryan felt Shane grab his free hand. He gripped tight. 

Sasha beelined through the crowd to the stage, behind the curtains hiding another exit. The alley they emerged into had people rushing left and right to other public spaces to escape the law enforcement. Sasha took them right, running and still dragging Ryan and Ryan still dragging Shane. They ran down the sidewalk, now rife with people. Cops trailed distant behind them, shouts echoing in the streets. 

They continued running, and Sasha suddenly pointed at the corner of the block. "Go! I'll keep them from following you." 

"What?" Shane said, hand still in Ryan's. "No, you're coming too."

Sasha shoved his chest and pointed down the sidewalk again. "Fucking go! I have a record. This shit can get you fired. Get out of here." 

Shane gaped for a second before clamping his mouth shut and muttering a "Thank you," before tugging Ryan along as he began running again. 

Ryan had no choice but to follow, but he stole a glance back in the direction of Sasha as they ran. She ran straight to cops and distracted them, which, thanks to her gender nonconforming appearance, caused her to be apprehended. It also allowed for more people to slip past the cops. 

Ryan tried to focus on running, but stumbled. In the split second where he met Sasha's eyes again and when he looked away, time slowed. The things he was seeing overlapped with something different - it looked the same, yet different. In what he knew was the present he saw Sasha lifted up her hands in defeat and her arms were pulled behind her back to be handcuffed. The overlapping vision blurred, but then cleared. In that, he saw moments before where Sasha burst from the alleyway, only without he and Shane in tow. She stopped and turned towards the cops approaching, but instead of giving in, she ran down the sidewalk. She stumbled, and in that window a cop caught her by the collar. She struggled, and the cop pushed her towards the street. She windmilled her arms to catch herself, but a car coming down that lane showed no signs of stopping.

The vision slowed, and in excruciating detail Ryan saw the speeding car collide with Sasha. 

When he could blink, he did so hard, tears blurring his eyes, but the blink reset what he was seeing, eyes wide. Again, he saw Sasha, safe but arrested, turning her head away from him, cops gripping her upper arms.

He was breathless. His heart was pounding. 

The tug of Shane's hand on his anchored him to the present, and he was launched back to the rush of running back to the Roslynn. 

.

When they finally arrived back at the Roslynn, a couple blocks away, they were breathless. They tried fixing themselves up again before walking through the lobby, where Terry stood guard. He simply looked them over and went back to reading the newspaper. 

They stumbled into their apartment, legs tired from the sudden exercise and adrenaline. Their minds reeled from the night's events, and Shane carded his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth in the entryway. 

"What the fuck was that?" He asked out loud. 

Ryan stood silent for a moment before answering, "That was a raid. Because it's a gay bar. Because that's still a crime." He felt a little numb. "Sasha… Fuck, they're arrested." 

"Yup." 

"If - if we had been arrested, we - we probably would've had to go back through - " 

"Uh-huh," 

" - and now I feel bad because Sasha sacrificed themselves for us, just - fuck." 

Shane stopped pacing but laced his fingers together on his head, looking up and sighing. Ryan stood still, staring off into the middle distance. 

"What do we do now?" Ryan asked, hollow. 

Shane stood silently for a moment before turning and walking to the living room, where he plopped down on the couch. Ryan blinked at him before following. 

They sat next to each other, silent. Ryan was the one to break it. 

"I saw something, Shane. I - I had a vision."

Shane turned his head to look at him, brows furrowed. Ryan continued. "Sasha was running out from the alley, but they - they weren't with us. They were alone. They… they tried running, but they stumbled, and a cop got them, and they tried to run still, but then the cop pushed them into the street and - and a car was coming and - they couldn't escape and - " Ryan could barely speak through the lump in his throat. "I don't. I don't think they were supposed to survive tonight. I think we changed the past." 

Shane noticed Ryan's distant look and shaking hands and tentatively wrapped his hand around one of Ryan's. "Are you… sure that's what you saw? I mean - "

"I know what I saw!" Ryan snapped, frantic eyes meeting Shane's. He took a shaky breath, voice lowering. "I know what I saw. Please, just - please believe me." 

Shane clamped his mouth shut at the sudden desperation in Ryan's voice. Ryan's eyes welled up with uncontrollable tears and he didn't move to wipe them away or hide them. He only looked at Shane with wide, pleading eyes.

Shane swallowed before pulling Ryan into a hug. Ryan choked out a sob, and tentatively wrapped his arms around Shane. He didn't really blink - he let the tears blur his vision and fall from his lashes. 

Shane's skeptic side was being whittled away a little more and a little more every day, but without witnessing the vision Ryan had, he had his doubts. On the other hand, his soft spot for Ryan made way for a little belief. It was the same thing as with the phone booth incident - Ryan didn't say what he heard on the receiver, but he knew if it was enough to shake up Ryan that badly, it was worth putting blind faith in. The same was paralleled here, with this apparent vision. He had to put blind faith in his friend. 

Shane tucked Ryan's head under his chin and rocked softly, carding his fingers through Ryan's hair. Ryan closed his eyes. 

_Blind faith, huh?_ Shane thought. _Guess I'll do anything for you, Bergara._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in california during this time, trans and gender nonconforming people were often arrested when their perceived gender didn't match what was on their identification. on the other hand, california was one of the first states to allow gay bars to exist. (little history lesson for y'all here lol)  
> remember to leave kudos, and please leave some feedback! i love hearing from you guys!


	9. Taxi's Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much could bail in 1960 be, Ryan? Fifty cents? - Shane, probably

Shane held Ryan for a few moments more before pulling away. He looked Ryan hard in the eyes and said, "I believe you."

Ryan nodded, blinking away the wetness in his eyes and wiping the tears away with the heel of his hands. "I think we… did something different this time. That's the reason for the vision." 

"What should we do about it?" 

Ryan thought for a moment. "Well… if they were supposed to die, then we're already doing them a favor, right?" 

"Yeah, I'd say." 

Ryan chewed at his lip. "They're in jail now… Do you think we have enough money to bail them out?" 

Shane sighed. "Oh, I'd say… it'd be like… $60? A little less than our rent? But still expensive because our law enforcement is a joke?" 

Ryan's mouth quirked into a small smile at that, but turned serious again. "That sounds… right. For now?" 

"For now." Shane echoed. He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, suddenly feeling a weight settle on his shoulders. He could feel the adrenaline finally wearing off. 

Ryan stood suddenly. "I gotta… take a shower," he said, voice hollow. He turned to walk to the bathroom. 

Shane stopped him with a light touch on his arm, bringing Ryan's attention back to him. "Are you okay?" 

Ryan kind of short-circuited at that; opened his mouth and closed it again. "I… I think I just need time to think." 

Shane didn't feel comforted from those words, but he let his hand fall away from Ryan's arm back to his lap. Ryan silently walked to the bathroom, and then Shane was alone in the living room. He dragged a hand over his face and slumped back on the couch. 

.

Ryan had been sitting at the bottom of the shower for at least fifteen minutes, now, and he couldn't shake the ghost of the vision like light trails in his eyes. He tried to distract himself with actually showering, but in the end he sunk to the bottom like a rock and anchored himself in the comfort of the steam and warmth and the flow of water on his body. Arms wrapped around his knees pressed to his chest, secure. 

The important thing was, the past hadn't immediately lashed out at them like before - they were safe, in a loose sense of the word. They had evaded the police. They had made it back to their apartment. But the worry couldn't be shaken from his mind. They had unknowingly kept a person from dying, which was what their goal was for the future president. This was almost a test run, he considered; they could test the effects of prolonging Sasha's life. He grappled with the moral obstacles of it, which were essentially observing an oblivious subject. Sasha was meant to be dead; what were the effects going to be of not dying for her?

The water ran ice-cold, which jolted Ryan out of his thoughts and out of the stream of water. He scrambled to turn off the shower, and sighed in relief when it stopped. He grabbed his towel from where it hung and stepped out of the shower, reluctantly. 

.

Shane was busy thinking on the couch. He had taken off his tie and jacket, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. He listened to the white noise of the shower running, half waiting for Ryan to come out and half thinking about the night. He felt exhausted again, like the night in Kingman, but a little less shaken by what happened. Was this his new normal? He and Ryan were meant to save the president's life, but what would happen as a result of saving Sasha? She was random, as far as they knew; she was simply to be another martyr for the cause of gay liberation. What could they do for her now other than let her live the rest of her life? 

Shane looked toward the bathroom door when he heard it open. A disheveled Ryan emerged in a towel and went to his room immediately, and Shane opened his mouth to speak but ended up closing it when Ryan closed the door to his bedroom. So Shane sighed and went to his own bedroom to change into pajamas and get settled in for time with his thoughts. He didn't enjoy the cold shoulder Ryan was giving him, which didn't happen often. When he wasn't talking, he was analyzing, and since the last time the silence stretched so long was in Kingman, he couldn't help but worry about Ryan. He sat on the edge of his bed and contemplated whether to go knock on Ryan's door when he came up with a plan: Shane was going to pay Sasha's bail tonight. 

With a note on the kitchen counter and quietly closing the door, Shane was on his way to the police station. 

.

Shane walked up to the protective glass barrier behind which was a bored-looking secretary. "I want to pay bail of a person brought in here tonight." 

"Name?"

"I don't… know the name, per se… but I know what they look like." 

"Alright, describe the people to me." 

"No, it's one person." The secretary made a confused face, but Shane continued. "They're a little shorter than me, in need of a shave, dark hair? A suit?" 

The secretary looked at him over her reading glasses, mouth pressed into a line. "You know that describes literally everyone in there, right?" 

Shane ignored the petulant response and continued. "They may have been wearing lipstick?" 

The secretary nodded. "Ah, one of the queers. I know who you mean. He's a repeat offender." 

He inwardly cringed at the slur, but put on a nice face. "Yeah, they're a distant uh, cousin." 

Even though the secretary showed suspicion at that, she asked for $55 for bail. Shane paid it, thankful he was nearly correct in his estimate. 

Shane leaned on the counter and watched Sasha come down the stairs, now sans lipstick. She held a manila folder in her hands, digging through it and pulling out a cigarette and lighter from her newly recovered possessions. When she looked up, though, she paused in shock. 

" _You're_ the one who bailed me out?" 

"Well don't act so grateful," Shane smirked. 

Sasha rolled her eyes and continued down the stairs, and Shane followed her out the door. 

"Mind if I pay for your cab?" he proposed. 

She lit her cigarette and took a drag. "I wanna talk with you. Why'd you bail me out?" She exhaled smoke and turned to Shane, eyes suspicious. 

Shane was taken aback by the question. "Well, because you kinda saved my - our - asses back there. We uh, kinda didn't know any of that would happen, or if we were in a, uh, _that_ kind of bar…" He nervously rubbed the back of his neck. 

Sasha began walking, and Shane walked alongside her. "Well, you're new in town. Being seen at those places can get you fired. That's what happened to me." She offered a cigarette, and Shane politely refused, remembering Al. 

"I'm sorry to hear that. Must make it hard to get hired too, huh?" 

"Yeah," Sasha sighed, eyes distant. "Now I take work where I can get it." She shrugged.

Shane nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. They walked in silence for a moment. 

"So, I'm guessing your real name isn't Sasha?" Shane asked. 

She snickered. "Nope. The name on my license and my record back at the station is Steven."

"You go by Sasha, then? At Harold's?" Sasha hesitated, but nodded. "I understand. I didn't want to be presumptuous at the station, since I didn't know your… legal name. I maaay have said you were my cousin..."

Sasha laughed curtly at that, which was a good sign to Shane. "Are you and your roommate..?" She suggested. 

"O-oh, no. We are actually, uh, just friends." Shane thought the question might come up, but he became flustered over it anyway. 

"Ah," Sasha said, sounding a little surprised. "Are either of you..?" She gestured with her hand. 

"Oh," Shane stumbled over his thoughts even more, running through memories and his knowledge of Ryan. "Well… I'm not sure about that, to be honest." 

"Ah," Sasha said, sounding curious this time. "Well, now that I was so generously bailed out, you're welcome to come see me at Harold's or the Waldorf anytime." She turned to look at Shane, smiling when she met his eye. Shane smiled back. 

"Well, I'm sure we'll be back." 

They continued walking in silence, Sasha finishing her cigarette. She put it out underneath her shoe. When Shane offered to pay her cab fare, this time she accepted. Before she got in the cab Shane waved down, she pulled Shane into a hug. She whispered, "Thank you," in his ear, and before he could respond, she had slipped into the back seat of the cab. He handed her a $10 bill and closed the door. 

He sent a wave at the taxi before turning to walk the rest of the way back to the Roslynn. 

.

Ryan had read the note Shane left and smiled to himself, heart a little lighter. He felt a little guilty for only coming out of his room when he noticed the lack of noise coming from the living room or Shane's room, but he had been writing his entry for the day, so he felt justified. His mind felt a little quieter after writing down his thoughts, enough so he could read through articles to edit. Most had small things, punctuation or spelling errors. His eyes grew heavy as he worked and waited for Shane to come back. 

When Shane walked in the door, he called out to Ryan as he took off his coat and shoes. He slid the chain lock into place before he spun on his heel and walked into the living room. Ryan was slumped over the coffee table, red pen in one hand, glasses in the other, articles scattered across the table. Shane smiled to himself and walked over. Ryan's shoulders rising and falling with his breathing. Shane nudged Ryan, waking him up. When he sat up, he stretched before putting on his glasses and squinting at him. 

"How did it go?" 

"I was nearly right about the bail cost." 

"What was it?" 

"$55." 

Ryan yawned and nodded. "Damn, close." 

Shane chuckled and squatted down to Ryan's level, swiping a stray hair back from his forehead. Ryan hummed, eyes screwed shut as he rubbed them with his fingers under his glasses. 

"Time for bed, baby?" 

"Don't call me baby," Ryan protested. 

Shane only smiled.

Shane escorted Ryan to bed and closed the door to his bedroom, and then organized the mess on the coffee table into piles of finished/not finished articles. He considered what to write about in his articles, and paused. Maybe he could focus on the issues the gay community in Los Angeles was facing. He certainly had a source for information through Sasha. He shook the thought from his head, though, reminding himself that the time they were living in was pre-Stonewall. He'd have to start small. 

He knew he and Ryan would be back at Harold's or the Waldorf, but they were warned by Al not to get too attached to anybody in the past, since they would have to leave them anyway. He hoped that becoming friends with Sasha or simply being customers at Harold's wouldn't be an issue to their jobs, but he knew the type of paranoid intolerance highlighted in this time towards anyone who deviated from the norm, and he knew their unusual tolerance would be cause for suspicion and possible incrimination. They only had to keep the job for around a year and a half, and hoped he would be able to produce content that kept him and Ryan under the radar for long enough to keep income coming. They also had the option of gambling, but he worried about the trouble betting could get them in, and wondered if a particularly good win would result in violence from the people of the past and not the past itself. Knowing the future in general was a burden on his and Ryan's shoulders, and he hoped that they would be able to shoulder it well. They still had more than two years until their primary goal was even in sight, let alone plausible. Kennedy wasn't even elected president yet. 

In an attempt to quiet his racing mind, Shane pulled his blanket over him and closed his eyes.

.

Ryan was roused awake by a coppery taste in his mouth. He sat up in his bed and felt a warm trail from his nose. His tongue poked at the wetness on his lips. He touched a finger to his nose and pulled it away, and in the dim light from the window he saw a dark spot on his fingers. He felt more leak from his nose, and was overwhelmed with the smell of blood. 

Ryan swore to himself and got out of bed, flinging the door open and rushing to the bathroom, where he flicked on the lights before going to the sink to wash the blood off his face. When he looked up, though, vision clearing, his breath caught in his throat. His left eye's sclera was red from burst blood vessels in his eyes, and he suddenly felt a strong throbbing in his head. Blood still dripped from his nose, and he stayed leaned over the sink, hands clutching the edges of the basin. He stared down at the running water, blood dripping occasionally to mix and swirl with the clear liquid until it was swallowed down the drain. _This must be the physical response,_ thought Ryan. _This must be from the vision._ He lifted up a hand and leaned on his elbow over the sink, head throbbing from not only the nosebleed and burst vessels in his eye, but from all the sudden movement.

He must have woken up Shane, because he almost slid past the bathroom entrance in his socked feet. He scrambled for a hold on the doorway to keep himself from falling, and managed to right himself. 

"Wh - what happened? I heard you - and the door - " Shane stopped talking once he saw Ryan's face when he turned to look at him. He seemed to sober up immediately, and rushed forward. "What happened?" he asked again, insistent, hand reaching out to Ryan's face. 

Ryan batted away his hand. "I woke up with a bloody nose… and I guess this eye thing. Think it's 'cause of the vision, but dunno." He wiped a hand under his nose and rinsed it off in the sink. His voice was low and it was hard to speak with his splitting headache. 

"I - uh, what can I do?" 

Ryan shrugged, eyes screwed shut. "'m tired." His knees felt weak. 

Shane rolled off a wad of toilet paper and bunched a handful in his hand before taking Ryan's hand and shoving the wad in it. Ryan lifted it up to his nose and held it there, the other holding fast to the edge of the counter. 

"Guess this is your punishment for getting a vision." Ryan nodded wordlessly. He didn't notice that he started to lean away from the counter until Shane caught his arm and righted him. "Woah, there… Let's sit you down." 

He let Shane move him until he was lowered onto the edge of the bathtub. Shane kneeled in front of him and Ryan leaned forward, elbows digging into the space above his knees. He obediently held the wad of toilet paper up to his nose, waiting for the flow to cease. 

Shane waited patiently for Ryan to open his eyes, and when he did, he smiled at him. "Doing okay?" Ryan grunted in a noncommittal response, peering at Shane through squinted eyes. 

Ryan felt vertigo all of a sudden and saw flashes of a vision. They were surrounded by boxes. Shane was still kneeled in front of him, but his expression flickered between the mild worry he showed currently and a more severe one. Shane wore different clothing and looked more disheveled and more sweaty. 

Shane looked up as the light flickered in the bathroom, and then back at Ryan, hesitantly trying to catch his eye. "Ry, what's happening?" Ryan heard present Shane talk, but the other Shane's words overlapped, coming in pieces. "Ry - press - breathing - please - " 

He met Shane's eyes, and his vision flickered in and out, so he shut his eyes and took in a shaky breath. 

"Vision - " Ryan choked out. "Again." 

"Keep your eyes closed. Breathe." Shane pulled Ryan's free hand to his chest and breathed slowly, in and out. Ryan followed, focusing on his breath. 

The sounds of the vision died down, and the vertigo faded. He still had the pounding headache to deal with, though. 

When he opened his eyes, he was met with Shane's distressed gaze. "Is it done?" His voice was soft. 

Ryan nodded. He pulled the toilet paper from his nose, noticing he didn't feel a flow anymore. Shane took some of the toilet paper still in his hand to wipe off the excess blood. He threw away the soiled pieces before getting a new piece, which he got wet to better wipe away the dried blood on Ryan's face. 

"What did you see this time?" Shane's tone was hesitant as he wiped at Ryan's face.

"I think… it was the future? I… saw you. And boxes. You were helping me. Like you're helping me now…" Ryan lowered his head, since it hurt to hold it up.

Shane lifted Ryan's head with a finger under his chin. "Open your eyes, I wanna see if they're okay." Ryan sluggishly opened them, and Shane analysed the state of his left eye. "How are you feeling? Pain from one to ten." 

"Uh… an eight? My head's pounding." 

"Shit. Think you're ready to go back to bed?" 

"Mhm. Hurts." 

Shane allowed Ryan to lean on him as they hobbled back to his bedroom. When Shane had pulled the blanket over Ryan, watching him settle in, Ryan mumbled something Shane couldn't hear. 

"What?"

"C'n you stay? 'Til 'm asleep?" 

"Okay." 

Shane kneeled next to the bed, and Ryan shifted to his side to face Shane, even though his eyes weren't open. Shane watched and waited.

Once he was sure Ryan was deep in dreamland, he reached out with a delicate hand. It hovered for a moment above Ryan's head, but Shane softly brushed his hair away from his forehead. Ryan didn't flinch at the touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of an in between chapter while i work out plot stuff, including lots o fluff. ryan's having a hard time these past couple chapters, rip. don't forget to leave kudos/comments!


	10. Too Close, Too Close for Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after being sick af for the past week, i'm baaack 🤧🤧🤧 time to look at gay l.a. history!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't forget to follow the playlist i made on spotify for this fic! 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1q0NasvHYHlCwyOUAArsQ0?si=Mffgg1wLQYmsIqnvUJVs-Q

"McClintock, I need you cover the raid that happened over the weekend at Harold's." 

Shane was taken aback by those words, but automatically said, "Okay." 

Ryan was home sick for the day - had called in sick the past two days - and was still sporting a severe headache and general sickness thanks to the visions and their physical effects. He was still feeling terrible two days later. Shane, however, went into work and did his best to focus. He did plan on bringing home something as a treat for he and Ryan after work, to help him feel a little better. 

"You're new to the area, right?" His supervisor, James Weissman, asked. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and a scrutinizing stare. "Have you heard about Harold's, or..?" 

"Oh, I've heard of it. It's pretty near here, right?" Shane tried to act as inconspicuous as possible, like he didn't know where it really was, that it was a gay bar, and especially not that he had been there before. 

"Yeah, it's just down Main. Should be an easy story to cover, pretty open-and-close. Be careful though, okay? There's a lot of hustlers down that way, a lot of sexual deviants. You gotta watch yourself." Weissman's voice lowered, and he leaned closer to Shane. Then he perked right up and smiled at Shane, sending a wave over his shoulder as he went to pick on some other new hire.

Shane sighed, leaning back in his chair. He wondered if Sasha would be there at this time. He decided to interview the police before going down to Harold's. He hoped he wouldn't be recognized from bailing out Sasha the other night. He packed up his notebooks and note-taking items in his briefcase and pulled on his suit jacket before walking in the direction of the exit. As he twisted and turned through the maze of cubicles, he dodged people pushing through the small aisles, holding stacks of paper, cups of coffee, boxes - he squeezed by and ducked under extremities and objects. He was certainly glad he didn't know anyone, otherwise he would definitely have a hard time finding someone in this mess. Ryan was in a separate department, and thus a different set of offices, that were more quiet and with less foot traffic. 

When Shane finally made it through the door, he bumped into someone's shoulder and mumbled a sorry in the general direction of the body as he continued down the sidewalk. When he looked back, he thought he saw a glimpse of a hat with a yellow card tucked into its band. He did a double-take, but lost the figure immediately. 

He dismissed the sight from his head and turned in the direction of the Sherrif's Department, which was only a couple blocks away. There was no doubt the people there would have answers. He had his press pass tucked into the front pocket of his jacket. He moved his hat onto his head from dangling in his hand, and continued in the early morning sun. 

.

Ryan finished reading the last paragraph of drafted articles and set it on top of the stack of other edited articles. He sat upright and stretched his arms, neck, and twisted from side to side to crack his back from sitting so long. All things considered, he was starting to feel pretty good. This morning, when he woke up to the sound of Shane getting ready, he didn't have a splitting headache like the past couple of mornings. It was a pressure on his temples, for sure, but not as bad as it had been. Shane ordered him to take some pills before heading off to work. Ryan felt well enough to attempt working on his editing, and before he knew it, he was through the whole stack. 

He looked down at his pajamas, open button-up shirt over an undershirt with shorts to match, and he decided he would try to venture outside today. He longed for the immediacy of texting, so he could let Shane know he would be out, but reminded himself his phone was back in their present, waiting the two minutes it always takes per trip through the Rabbit Hole. The only way to contact him would be to leave a message at the L.A. Times, but he figured calling them on his sick day to say he was going out wasn't the best idea. 

Ryan resorted to leaving a note on the kitchen counter to let Shane know where he would be, and locked the door on his way out. 

.

The police officers proved to be wholly unsympathetic towards Harold's and its patrons and workers when Shane interviewed them about the raid. He had to politely take note of quotes, nearly all of which included some kind of slur or derogatory term. He wondered how he would be able to write an unbiased article with the statements they were giving him. He guessed his boss wouldn't see it that way and wouldn't care.

"We got at least ten queers from the raid, but the others were too damn fast. Being short on officers didn't help either," One of the officers commented, sipping his coffee. They all stood near the desk of the person Shane interviewed first, and as he asked for more statements, more officers gathered around to give their take. He noticed there were no female officers.

"What do you get out of doing raids like this?" Shane asked, more to himself. 

Another one of the officers laughed. "We get to expose more perverts for who they really are. We're doing the public a favor," he took a drag of his cigarette before continuing. "They prey on young men 'round here and it helps the public to know who to look out for." 

Amongst all the hate speech, Shane felt increasingly frustrated, yet hoped he wasn't showing it. He was supposed to be professional. It was one article. Telling himself it would be over soon didn't help, but he still tried his best despite the overwhelming hate surrounding the subject matter.

Once he thanked the officers and left the room, he let his smile drop into an exhausted sigh. He took the stairs down to the ground floor, steps echoing in the empty stairwell. It was only a few seconds before another set of steps echoed along with his own. He halfheartedly searched for the source, and his eye caught a figure rushing down the stairs, a flight ahead of him. Through the small gaps in the stairwell he could see glimpses of a yellow card tucked into a black hat. Shane shot into action and rushed down the stairs, but the yellow card man was just ahead of him as they went down, down, down - a door slammed and didn't quite close, which Shane flung open and entered. The door led Shane out of the stairwell and down a blank hallway. Fluorescent tube lights were spaced evenly down the hallway. He rushed down to the end of the hallway, where it intersected with another. He looked right and then left, where his eye caught the end of a figure running as the hallway curved. He followed. 

The cold of the basement seeped out of the concrete of the walls and floor. Shane's steps echoed down the hallway, but he couldn't hear those of the man he was pursuing. He continued blindly - he needed to confront the yellow card man, find out what he could possibly want with him, why he was here, how did he _know_ he'd be here, was he following them - 

He rounded a corner and nearly ran into the yellow card man. He scrambled to a stop and nearly tumbled backwards with the momentum. He stepped away from the man, who had a face full of stubble and alcohol on his breath. 

Shane took a defensive stance. "Who are you?" 

The yellow card man stayed silent. He only stared, accusatory and suspicious. Shane felt his skin prickle at the sight. 

"You don't belong here." 

Shane stiffened automatically at those words, but reacted with anger. "Neither do you. Why are you following me?" 

"You don't belong here," he said again, fists clenched at his sides as he stepped toward Shane. Shane stood his ground, but was caught off guard when the yellow card man's hands pushed at his shoulders. "Shane Madej - " Another push, harder this time, "Ryan Bergara - " The last push was enough to send him to the ground, and Shane caught himself, ready to bounce back onto his feet and take a swing at the man, teeth clenched. "You don't belong here." He sneered, looking down at Shane.

The lights flickered, and Shane held the man's stare. When the whole hallway's lights cut, though, he was plunged into complete darkness. He sat still, listening for movement. He was used to being alone in the dark, thanks to their paranormal investigations, and focused on his surroundings. 

The lights all flickered on again at the same time a few long seconds later, and the yellow card man was gone. 

Shane pursed his lips and cautiously got up from the floor, wiping his hands off on his slacks. He looked around and huffed in frustration. _The past sure knows how to be cryptic,_ he thought. He collected his things and tried to retrace his steps. When he rounded the corner of the main hallway that branched off the stairwell, he came face-to-face with a janitor. In true Shane fashion, he bullshitted and said he got a little lost, and kindly asked for help getting to the ground floor. The janitor obliged without question. Shane hurried out of the building, thankful to be in an open area again. 

.

Ryan, on the other hand, was walking into Harold's, hoping to see Sasha. In order to observe the effects of her prolonged life, he needed to be close to her. He wasn't super keen on surrounding himself with parts of the past they disrupted - even on accident - but he knew he wouldn't be able to get answers without taking this risk.

When he saw Sasha sitting alone near the back, nursing a drink, he felt relieved. Out of the sunlight the club was dark and eerie; without it being so busy, it looked like a shadowy mouth. The tables were the teeth, the stage its throat, the dance floor its tongue. Soft music played from a jukebox near the bar, and it echoed across the hall. Cigarette smoke curled up and dissipated into a thin haze just under the ceiling. 

She turned to look at him as he approached, and smiled with recognition. He slid into the seat beside her. She tapped her glass with a fingernail. 

"Need a drink?" 

"No, I think it's too early for me. How have you been feeling? Since the raid?" He leaned on folded arms. 

Sasha sighed and ate the olive from her drink. "Come to think of it, it's been… odd. I can't quite put a name to it." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I feel like I'm in a rut, if that makes sense. I'm not sure what I need to do now." She stared off into the distance, thoughtful. "Like I can't catch up to the present." 

Ryan chewed at his lip, eager for a distraction. "What do you do here?"

"I'm an… escort, you could say. Kind of the only thing I can do around here. Lots of people like me do it too. Gotta make ends meet, right?" 

"Yeah," he replied, and suddenly felt some guilt in his stomach. He knew none of this was his fault, but he felt sad knowing the future they had wouldn't be feasible in Sasha's lifetime. 

"What's wrong with your eye?" Sasha reached over and gently tilted Ryan's face to hers for a better look. "It's all red. Did you get in a tussle?" 

Batting her hand away, he shook his head. Apparently the burst blood vessels were still that noticeable. "Nah, I just think it's stress," he tucked his hand under his chin again. "From the raid and work." 

"Hmm. Speaking of, why aren't _you_ at work?" 

"Been feeling under the weather the past few days. I am feeling better today, though," 

She looked a bit doubtful, but didn't say anything to indicate so. "What do you and Billy do? For work, I mean." 

"We work at the L.A. Times. I'm a copy editor, he's a reporter. Kinda beginning positions, but maybe we'll be able to go up the ladder." 

Sasha nodded. "Any idea what stories Billy is covering?" 

Ryan shook his head. "No, not at all. He might be doing something now, though. Wish I could call him up and see where he's at…" 

Sasha quirked an eyebrow at him but didn't say anything. 

.

Shane entered the bar and was surprised to see it so empty, considering the volume of people they encountered that weekend when they came for a drink. He looked around for Sasha, and saw her engaged in conversation with Ryan. Both nursed drinks, now, smiling and laughing. Despite his earlier encounter which left him frustrated, Shane smiled to himself at the sight. 

"Fancy seeing you here," he said as he walked up behind them. Ryan welcomed him with a wide, cheesy smile, a soft kind of openness in his eyes. He must be a couple drinks in, Shane supposed. 

"Sh - Billy. What're you doing here?" 

"Working, which looks like something you shouldv'e been doing a while ago." He elbowed Ryan playfully. 

"What are you covering now?" 

"I've, uh, actually been assigned to the raid that happened… here." He fished his notebook from his briefcase and slid into the third, empty seat at the tiny table. "I thought I should get an anonymous opinion on the matter," He said, pointedly looking at Sasha, pen ready. 

Sasha shrugged. "Guess I'm as good as anyone to talk to about that. I have a lot of opinions about cops anyway." 

"The cops were terrible, they have no respect for anyone who even looks at this place. Bunch of bigoted assholes, is what they are," Shane grumbled.

Ryan patted his back. "I can help with editing so we don't have to print that. Gotta stay unbiased, I guess." Shane nodded, smiling at the tipsy man next to him. 

Shane turned to Sasha. "Why do you think the raids are happening?" 

"They wanna target gays, that's it. And especially people like me, since we can be arrested for impersonating another gender and not looking like our gender on our identification. Load of bull. Do you know they send cops to try and hook up with us? Sometimes they don't even wait for us to make a move." 

"So they just look for any reason to raid or arrest people?" 

Sasha nodded. "Have you guys heard about what happened at Cooper Do-nuts?" Shane shook his head, and she continued. "In May last year we rioted in Cooper's. Gays and other transvestites would hang out there a lot. It's open all hours and has some of the best donuts and coffee you can get around here. That, and we could exist there, at least for a while, until the owner got tired of having to serve us.

"Cops came in and started arresting people left and right, and tried overstuffing cop cars with us. We finally said fuck it and threw our donuts and coffee at the pigs. They had to leave and wait for backup!" She laughed at the memory. "We ended up closing main street for a whole _day_. We kind of threw a bigger fight than we thought we'd be able to. Goes to show it's possible for us to right back, but there hasn't been any retaliation since. Not sure if people are afraid or what. LAPD has been tightening its grip down here lately, though." She chewed thoughtfully on the toothpick in her drink. 

Shane took quick notes, surprised by the quick history lesson. He knew neither he nor Ryan knew about the Cooper Do-nuts riot. Years before Stonewall, it would have been the first riot related to gay rights; it was also across the country, no less. 

"How come nobody ever heard about it?" He wondered, half-aloud and half to himself. He had the makings for some good exposure of the underbelly of the LAPD, but he knew he wouldn't be able to publish unless he delicately framed the facts in a way the public and his boss could digest easily. 

Sasha scoffed. "Why do you think? They don't want people to know that their asses were beat by the scary gays." Ryan snorted at that. 

Shane added small tidbits to his notes as Ryan and Sasha fell back into conversation. He had the beginnings of a real story here. All he had to do was find a clever way to pitch it to their boss. A break like this could either cost him his job or open up new doors for he and Ryan. He wondered if attempting to write on such controversial subjects would really change the direction history was going, anyway. 

Ryan brought him out of his thoughts. "Wanna go get some donuts before we go home?" He was standing and attempting to put on his jacket; his arm kept missing the sleeve hole and he screwed his face in frustration. Shane grabbed the collar of the jacket and wordlessly helped his arms through the holes. 

"Sure, and then you can enjoy the rest of your day off before tomorrow. No more drinking for you, Ber - Goldsworth." He bit his tongue at the minor slip, and hoped Sasha wouldn't notice. She only waved them off as they left.

After they had a box of a dozen donuts in hand, they took a taxi back to the Roslynn.

.

"This weekend we should go back," Ryan suggested. "We can go dancing with Sasha, she can show us other places to go if she isn't busy working." 

"Hmm," Shane mused, hand writing a loose outline of his article. Ryan had sobered up thanks to some donuts, dinner, and hanging out in front of the television while Shane took up his notes. 

Ryan shut the television off before turning to Shane. "You seem… weird. Distanct. Did anything else happen at work? Or the station?" 

Shane sighed and paused his writing. He scratched at the back of his neck before saying, "I saw the yellow card man." Ryan gaped, and Shane sat up a little more as he turned. "It was only for a moment, I tried following him - but he disappeared," 

"Did he say anything?" 

"He said the whole 'ooh, you don't belong here, leave,' type bullshit. I got angry and just kinda left." He shrugged off Ryan's worry. 

"You're not freaked out." 

"Of course I'm not - if it were you, you'd be scared shitless. But me? Eh." He shrugged. 

"Wh - Anything else?" Ryan attempted to grasp at any reason for the visit. 

"He knew our names. Our real names." 

"That's creepy as fuck!" 

"Eeehhh…" 

"Shane. Knowing our fake names is one thing, but our real ones? How could they possibly know?" 

"I think the more we don't question the past, the less it's gonna mess with us." 

"That's your solution?" 

"Uh-huh." Shane scribbled down more notes. "Take it or leave it, Bergara. I'm not going with you if you wanna chase after the yellow card man. It'll be like being left alone in the dark for ten minutes in a haunted location." 

Ryan crossed his arms. "I don't like it, Shane…" 

"But you can't argue, right?" 

"But I can't argue," he huffed. 

Shane smiled at the way Ryan pouted. "Good thing is, if I can make the Cooper Do-nuts story into one with the raid, I'll basically have two stories in one." Ryan glanced over. "Wanna help?" 

With a sigh Ryan nodded, and Shane handed him his notes as they sat cross legged on the couch together. Ryan's eyes scanned the papers and Shane was glad to see his left eye had faded from a bright red to a dim pink from a distance. Any evidence of a bleeding, shaking Ryan would be gone physically, but still in his memory. 

Ryan made grabby hands at the pen in his hand, and Shane wordlessly handed it over and watched Ryan correct and make notes to rearrange the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more filler! hopefully this isnt getting boring for yall. let me know in the comments, and dont forget to leave kudos!


	11. Hot Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> super excited for this chapter. been wanting to write this one for a while.

For Shane and Ryan, the next few weeks were filled with work and the weekends were reserved for sleeping. Shane was out at random hours following leads for stories and Ryan was given more editing responsibilities to add to his workload. On top of trying to chronicle their timeline and find time to spend with Sasha, their alone time was few and far between. Hurried greetings and farewells were common; as one left, the other was coming back to sleep, and vice versa. Their schedules were a joke, dependent on the movement of the current events of the city.

Ryan often fell asleep trying to keep up his timeline entries, and he was used to Shane nudging him awake as he left to do something or another. From there he'd move to his bed in a daze, collapsing until he had to leave again. At work, he'd focus on reviewing articles upon articles and had a hard time keeping times, dates, and names straight, not to mention what events they were attached to. People bled into places bled into crimes, and he zoned out into his work to meet constantly closing deadlines for publications. The only comfort most of the time was when he'd leave his department and see Shane in his, working away. Sometimes he'd stop by his desk or the dark room with a snack for them to share; the comfort of silent company was better than talking, and Shane was appreciative of Ryan's occasional check-ins.

Shane worked closely with rotating groups on different stories, and out of necessity learned how to use the analog cameras. Most importantly, the flash, how to develop the photos, and how to ready them for reproduction. The dim glow of the red light-safe bulbs in the dark room was the environment he lived in more often than not. He found he was soothed by the repetition, and he was slowly getting faster and better at developing photos. Since he was up at ungodly hours of the night, he found then was the best time to have the dark room to himself. No interruptions meant for better quality photos and meant for more praise from his boss; but God, was he tired all the time. 

When they had time to have a drink or two at Harold's, they would seek out Sasha and talk with her about her clients. She was popular and charming, but was able to hold her own up against any harassment. As she offhandedly talked about her day-to-days, their ears would perk up at any mention of her personal life. They learned she lived with another person (who wasn't family), she had one sibling, and she grew up in L.A. She was secretive out of necessity and self-preservation, and neither of them pried. They simply observed her, content with her prolonged life going normal for her. 

Thankful for a Friday night, Ryan sought out Shane for their walk back to their apartment. When he first didn't see Shane at his desk, he beelined to the dark room; he rang the bell outside and waited for an answer from the intercom. 

"Hmm?" Crackled out of the speaker. 

"Billy, ready to go home?" 

A pause, then, "Ah. Shit. Uh, gimme five minutes?" 

"I'll be here." 

Ryan sat in one of the vinyl covered chairs outside the dark room and set his briefcase in his lap. When Shane came out, stack of freshly dried exposures stacked haphazardly in his arms, Ryan took the liberty of skimming some off the top and holding them as he followed Shane back to his desk. He leafed through them, finding a few run-of-the mill photos, until he stopped on the last one. It was him, bathed in sunlight and reclined on their sofa. He was asleep in the photo, or near so, he supposed. He wondered how long ago this was taken, since the past few weeks had been a blur for him. The angle was near the floor, so he wondered if Shane was working on his own things at the coffee table before snapping a picture. He smiled to himself and moved it to the top of the pile, nudging Shane when they got back to his desk. 

"What's this?" He asked with a smile, and when he looked up at Shane's face, he noticed a tinge of embarrassment when he realized what the photo was. 

"Ah, I was just - y'know, testing stuff out. Getting used to the camera. It was a while ago," Shane dismissed him with a hand, and Ryan nodded, taking it back. He hoped Shane didn't notice when he slipped it off his desk and into his briefcase when he turned away to put some photos in a drawer in his file cabinet. 

.

Shane was jerked out of his thoughts when Sasha pulled on his arm.

"Hey, let's dance. You look like you need it," She said, a flirty smile playing on her lips. 

Shane searched for a reply. "O-oh, don't you wanna dance with Ricky?" She gave him a questioning look. 

Ryan raised an eyebrow at him. "Why me? Afraid for once?" 

Shane tsked and shook his head. "Don't think for a second I couldn't mop the floor with you, babe." He leaned back and crossed his arms, and Sasha's hands slipped from around his arm.

"Don't call me _babe_ ," Ryan sighed, but still smiled. He took one last look at Shane before he stood and grabbed Sasha's hand. "C'mon, I'll dance with you, Sasha."

Shane watched with a mix of relief and confusion as Sasha smiled wide and followed Ryan onto the dance floor. Ryan seemed at home on the tile where other couples danced, and despite the height difference between he and Sasha - her being slightly taller thanks to her heels - he led well. The upbeat swing had Ryan twisting and twirling Sasha, catching her naturally by the waist and by the wrist. They smiled and laughed and he had to smile a little too at the fun Ryan seemed to be having. Shane didn't want to admit he couldn't dance, and seeing _that_ , he had to admit he felt a little inadequate. He scooted down into his seat a little more, pouting as he sipped his drink. He wondered how long he could forego dancing before his secret was revealed. He had a feeling Ryan already noticed his odd behavior and knew the answer. His pity party was interrupted only when someone walked up to their table. 

"Now who left you all alone?" The stranger wore a dress shirt, probably from working earlier in the day, and his hair was combed into a looser version of Shane's. He smiled, pose confident as he stared down at Shane. 

Shane looked him over and said curtly, "No one. Just watching friends' drinks while they're on the dancefloor." 

The man set his drink down on the table and scooted closer, and Shane continued to pretend his interest was captured by the people on the dance floor. Only when the man's hand came to rest on the back of Shane's chair did he feel uneasy. He looked at the man again, who smiled at him with faux sweetness. 

"What d'you say you and me go somewhere private?" 

"Uh, no thanks, I gotta stay here," Shane said. _What's up with this guy?_ he thought. _Nobody ever says that kinda shit here._

Before the man could say anything else, Sasha and Ryan reappeared and he realized the song had ended. 

"Let's all go for a smoke break," Sasha said, insistently patting on his arm. She knew neither of them smoked, but Shane went with it anyway, sending a salute back at the man as Sasha dragged him away. 

Once outside, Sasha looked around as she took out a cigarette for herself. "Good thing I spotted you when I did," she said, trying and failing to get a light. Shane cupped his hand around the end of the cigarette and she was able to flick a flame for long enough to light it. She inhaled. "That man was a cop," she said through her cigarette.

Shane made a face. "Really? Trying to hit on me?" He leaned on the outside wall, watching as people went by on the sidewalk.

"Oh, it's a new tactic they've been using. Cruising for men so they can arrest them if they even so much as make a pass at them." 

"Why not just raid? Like last time?" Ryan asked. 

"They try to get them outside before they're arrested so nobody figures out they're a cop. Sometimes it's easy, though - that guy had two wallets. One for a badge." She took a drag. 

"Guess I got the looks if a cop is sweet on _me_ ," Shane joked, nudging Ryan, who scoffed. 

"If there are more of them, you guys better watch out. I won't always be there in the nick of time. Might just be because it's a Friday night." 

"Well, we can just go back to the apartment, right?" Ryan suggested, and Shane gave him a questioning look. 

"I 'spose, but don't you wanna - " 

"We can just drink at home. We can also clean the dishes so we don't have to do that later. We've been kinda putting it off for a week." 

Giving in, Shane shrugged. "Sure, I guess we could do that." 

Sasha waved them off with an impatient hand as they warned her to be careful for the rest of the night and to call if she needed a ride. Then they took a cab back to 505. 

As soon as they both were in the threshold of the apartment, Ryan said, "Can't dance, then?" 

Shane sighed, half incredulous, half expecting Ryan to act this way. "Yeah, and you're over there on the dance floor tearing it up. The fuck's up with that, Ry?" He unlaced his shoes and kicked them to the corner by the door. 

Ryan wheezed a laugh and said, "Well, why don't I teach you? It looks like something you need to know, right? It'll be easy." 

"Somehow I don't believe that." Shane hung up his jacket, walked into the kitchen, and began to wash the dishes piled in the sink. 

"Oh, come on, Shane…" Ryan followed him into the kitchen, leaning on the counter. "It's better than doing it in public and falling flat on your tall ass, right?" 

Shane continued scrubbing at the dishes, and Ryan sighed in annoyance. He walked over to the radio on the counter and flicked it on, surfing through channels until he found a song that they could dance to. 

Ryan slowly danced up to Shane again, and without looking away from the dishes, Shane said, "Nope. Not gonna do it." Ryan tugged at his sleeve, still dancing in place. It was a few more rejections before Shane finally gave in and turned to Ryan. 

"Fine. Fine! Stop dancing in place and show me how to do this." He wiped off his hands on a dishtowel and held them out to Ryan, expectant. 

Ryan took them in his own, gently holding under Shane's, and stood tall. Shane mirrored the action, but still looked tense. Ryan slowly instructed him on the steps, slowly speeding up until they were in time with the song playing. Leading when the other person was a head taller was difficult for Ryan, but he managed. 

Right, left, back-front - right, left, back-front; Shane got the hang of the steps easily, but Ryan was about to throw a whole wrench in the movement. When Ryan urged Shane to move towards him and under his arm, Shane accidentally elbowed himself in the face. 

"What the fuck was that for?" 

"I'm trying to get you to do a spin! Now do this…" 

They practiced the normal steps and did a few successful spins before the song ended, and Shane stopped, a little out of breath. Ryan beamed at him, and Shane shook his head in response. Their hands lowered, but they still were holding each others' hands. 

"You did it!" 

"I guess. I'm bad at it, though." 

"Everyone's bad at something they just started." 

"Can we be done now?" 

The next song that came on was a waltz, and Ryan lit up with excitement. "Can you waltz?" 

Shane scoffed. "Of course I can, I've been to a wedding in my life." 

"Just making sure," Ryan smirked. 

When Ryan moved to separate their hands, Shane didn't let go; instead, he held on, which made Ryan give him a questioning look. 

"May I have this dance, Bergara?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Ryan smiled softly and said, "Sure." 

Shane pulled him into the living room and put one hand on his waist, indicating he was going to lead. Ryan set one hand on his shoulder, and their other hands were clasped together. They scooted closer to be able to keep the stance, and then began slowly turning, stepping to the rhythm of the song. 

_I wanna chance, I wanna chance; I want another chance…_

Ryan tried not to concentrate on the way his hands felt clammy all of a sudden. He slowly moved his head to lean on Shane's chest, and felt a little jolt of feeling when Shane lifted his chin to tuck his head underneath.

 _To distill; to distill that time,_

Shane swayed slowly, and felt his heart skip a little. He almost wished he could take a picture of the moment. He wondered how they looked from the outside, and dismissed it in favor of closing his eyes and concentrating on the moment.

_And I wanna write, I wanna write; I wanna write to someone so true…_

Ryan felt unusually sober even though they each had a couple drinks back at Harold's. He was so high energy only five minutes ago, and here he was, sleepy and swaying. 

_I wanna wake, I wanna wake, I wanna wake; from hot dreams; hot dreams of you_

Shane pulled a little more protectively around Ryan's waist; hesitant yet firm. Ryan closed his eyes.

_Oh, hot dreams…_

There they stayed for the rest of the song, focused only on keeping time and being close to each other. The music crackled through the radio speakers, drifting through the apartment. In that moment, their past personas fell away and they could exist as themselves, if only for a little while. 

.

Ryan dug through his bag and took out the photo Shane had taken of him, which he stole without him knowing. The morning light filtered in through his window, and he gazed at it, soft fingers cradling the print. 

He left his room quietly, hoping not to wake Shane, and took down a framed photo that the last tenants left behind. He pulled up the frame points holding the photo and glass securely in place, and swapped the old photo for the new one. When he hung it up again, he smiled at his work, and wondered how long it would take Shane to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song is hot dreams by timber timbre, go have a listen! please remember to leave comments/kudos! 💖


	12. The Risk Belongs With You Somehow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im not dead, i promise!! i've just been working on anoooother bfu au, called Doe, John. please check it out if you have time!
> 
> edit 2/9/20: added some more that i didnt think would be enough for a chapter!! please scroll down n read the new parts pls 👀

It was the day of the election of John F. Kennedy as the President of the United States, and the L.A. Times building was busier than Shane and Ryan had ever seen it. Coffee was being made around the clock and people crowded around radios and televisions, listening and watching closely for the outcome to be announced. 

Despite their knowledge of the future, the boys paid close attention to the race. Their coworkers often complained about the president-to-be, saying he was too young, too charismatic, too inexperienced to be president. Some cited the candidate's Addison's disease as a reason he should have been pulled from the running. Ryan and Shane simply laughed along, dismissing the comments and insults of their belief Kennedy would win. They knew better, but it's not like they could brag until after the election, anyhow. 

Shane attempted to take a sip of his coffee, but was bumped into from behind; half the cup spilled over onto his shirt. He cursed and navigated the crowds to Ryan's department more carefully, hoping he would have a temporary solution for the stains sure to set in the white dress shirt. 

Ryan was reading through a printed article, red pen in hand, when Shane approached. Ryan looked up and immediately laughed. "Looks like your day's going good." 

"Ha, ha," Shane sneered, playful. "How's wading through this?" He patted the top of the pile of articles to be looked over on Ryan's desk. He set down his half cup of coffee in an empty space on the desk. Ryan glared at him over his glasses. Shane snickered at the sight. 

Ryan turned back to his work. "Don't you have something to write about instead of bothering me? Photos to develop?" 

He waved a hand dismissively. "I needed a coffee break, but then half of it ended up on my shirt. Got any tricks to get this out in that big brain of yours?" Shane looked down at his shirt, pulling his tie to the side. The tie was fine, it was black anyway; it did absorb the coffee enough to leave a stain around where his tie lay, though. He frowned at the sight.

Ryan sighed and pushed away from his desk, stretching his hands high over his head. Shane noticed he had untucked his shirt, and saw a little bit of abdomen that made him quickly avert his eyes. Ryan didn't notice and stood, hurriedly tucking his shirt back into his slacks so that his supervisor wouldn't notice he had untucked it in the first place. His shirt was a bit wrinkled, though, from sitting in the same place for so long. 

Ryan assessed the damage and took his handkerchief from his pocket. "Let's go to the bathroom, I think I might be able to make it less… noticeable." 

"Like it wasn't already obvious?" 

Ryan rolled his eyes. 

.

Ryan had been using his handkerchief and some cold water to dab at the stain, and Shame watched, leaning against one of the other sinks in his undershirt. 

"Got it out yet, babe?" 

"Don't call me babe," Ryan said without looking up, and Shane smiled when he saw Ryan's lips quirk up into an involuntary smile. 

They both startled when someone walked out of one of the stalls. The man was as faceless and as similar as any one of them, but Ryan's nerves shot up at the sight of the man giving them a cold look. In their time, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary to see something like this happening, but in 1960 it was a bit taboo to, first of all, see a man trying to get a stain out of a shirt, and second, that shirt being not his. Third being it was that of his male friend.

Ryan smiled a little at the man and said, "It's pretty hectic around here, isn't it?" He hoped the humor would help lighten the mood. 

The man didn't answer, only shot them a look as he left. Shane watched him go with a frown. 

"Who put a stick up his ass?" Shane mumbled, turning back to Ryan. His face softened when he saw Ryan's worried expression. "Ry?"

Ryan, still staring at the bathroom door, seemed to shake out of his trance and look back down at the shirt. "I think that's as good as it's gonna get, Billy." He handed it over and washed out his handkerchief under the faucet. He didn't make eye contact. 

Shane took the shirt and put it on, a little put off at Ryan calling him Billy when they were alone. As he buttoned up his shirt he said, "Doing okay, bud?" 

With a huff, Ryan leaned on the edge of the sink. "You gotta be more careful what you say. That guy probably thinks we're… you know." 

"What, gay?" 

Ryan shot him a look and in a low voice, said, "This isn't 2019 anymore, Shane. I'm serious. I don't wanna get fired, and neither do you." 

Taken aback by the tone of Ryan's voice, he didn't crack a joke like usual. He only tied his tie again - terribly, he'd admit, Ryan was the one who was good at it - put on his jacket, and left. The stain was lighter, now, and he had a larger wet spot on his shirt that wasn't exactly comfortable, but at least he looked more put together. 

He grabbed some of his own and his colleague's film that needed to be developed and beelined to the dark room. 

.

With coffee in hand as a peace offering, Ryan pressed the call button on the dark room speaker, and waited. 

There was a second of crackling before an answer came through. "Yeah?" 

"I have coffee. If you want some," Ryan said through the speaker, an unseen, hopeful smile forming on his lips. Instead of in a mug, he had the coffee in a to-go cup. He figured Shane would laugh at that. 

A few more seconds of silence before, "Go on without me, I'll… be there inna bit." 

Ryan's smile fell. He took a few seconds himself before he pressed the button. "Okay. See you." 

Feeling defeated, Ryan left with the coffee in hand back to his desk, where he packed up his things. He needed someone to talk to about this; someone who would understand the way he reacted. The first person to come to mind was Shane, but since he wasn't in a talking mood, and the subject of his worry, Ryan decided he would go visit Sasha. She was bound to be at Harold's, or at least nearby where he could find her. 

He put on his hat and ducked through the main room, which was now a mass of people. The votes were close to being announced. 

.

Shane waited a good ten minutes before he packed up his things in the dark room. He felt a little bad for figuratively and literally shutting Ryan out, but he still didn't appreciate the way Ryan snapped at him. He figured it was the stress of a milestone coming up so quickly in their journey that made him more on edge than usual. 

The sudden focus on how they, as roommates and friends, appeared to other people made him wonder if it was because of their dance lessons they did every other day. It was still just them in the living room making absolute fools of themselves, but as long as Ryan was the only one to see, Shane didn't care. This went along with Harold's being their weekend refuge - they ended up having to run away from a couple more raids since their first, though they watched Sasha close. Shane even dragged Sasha and Ryan onto the dance floor of Harold's once or twice, to their clear surprise. 

Was it him? Did he get too relaxed in the setting of the semi-safe space of Harold's to be so flippant about endearing terms, touches on Ryan's shoulders and hips as he scooted past him in their kitchen, feeling so happy and free dancing in their living room and holding Ryan's hands, staring at the bit of abdomen that peeked out from under Ryan's shirt - ? 

_What am I thinking about all that for?_

Shane tried to brush it all off as their close proximity; they were living together, living a secret no one else knew about, not even Sasha. They were comfortable in each other's company, and both of them needed the close proximity dancing brought; it made Shane feel better, that's for sure. He didn't have bouts of loneliness that he tried to wash away in the shower as often anymore. They were both men out of their time, they both needed to lean on each other, figuratively and literally. He couldn't confuse this with a dumb crush. 

_Dumb crush?_

Shaking off the racing thoughts, he resolved to find Ryan, apologize, and then shove whatever crush feelings he had deep, deep down into the wastebasket of his mind. 

.

Ryan found Sasha at Cooper's Do-nuts, nursing a coffee with one sugar and cream and munching on a donut. Ryan sat down with his coffee after he topped off the to-go cup he brought with him. He was already jittery in general, but he figured since he was already a cup in, he might as well go for more. The donut wouldn't hurt, either. 

"What's up, Goldsworth?" Sasha tucked her chin in her hand and raised her eyebrows at him. "Where's Billy?" 

Ryan sighed. "We kinda had an argument at work today, and I feel kinda bad…" 

"Ah, boyfriend trouble," Sasha said with a smile. Ryan scoffed at her - it was definitely something Shane would say. "Go ahead." 

While he explained his dilemma - was he too harsh? Was he being unnecessarily cautious? - Sasha stared at him with an unreadable expression. Once he began spiraling and looping his argument in on itself, she set a hand on top of his. He stopped mid-sentence and looked at her.

"Ricky, honey," she sighed, exasperated. "Do you ever think you're a little bit in love with him?" 

His mouth fell open. 

All of a sudden, the shop was filled with uproar - Kennedy had been announced as the new President of the United States. Mixed cries of happiness and disbelief rung out, and Ryan looked around at everyone talking and cheering. His attention was caught by the glass and chrome door opening, and Shane walked in, shirt still stained, jacket slung over his arm. They met eyes.

Ryan stood and weaved through the crowd, approaching Shane. Shane did the same, and when they met in the middle, Shane pulled him off to the side. 

"I'm sorry - " they both began. They burst laughing at the irony, and Shane looked around. 

"Kennedy won?" He asked over the loudness. Ryan nodded, and he smiled. 

Ryan leaned up on his toes, one hand braced on Shane's shoulder, to speak into his ear. "Wanna, uh - go outside? It's loud." 

Shane nodded and tugged gently at Ryan's sleeve. Ryan was bumped from behind and his hand automatically slipped into Shane's. Shane tensed, but hoped Ryan didn't notice - he totally noticed. 

When they were outside, Shane turned to Ryan, who didn't let go of his hand. He tried not to notice - he totally noticed. 

"I'm sorry," Ryan started again, "for acting the way I did in the bathroom. I get so worked up about little things, things that don't matter normally, but I just think - what if? What if we have to do all this again? It's only been a couple months, and it feels like a lifetime. I don't wanna keep resetting." 

Shane listened, heart racing in his chest. He didn't know how to put his own thoughts on the matter into words, and he was usually the eloquently spoken one. Ryan was out here - in public, on a random sidewalk in Los Angeles - laying his feelings out between them. He hoped he could express his feelings a fraction of the way Ryan did. 

"But," Ryan continued, chewing his lip for a moment, "But I know it's so much easier with you. I'd have left after Kingman, or after waking up to tasting my own blood and seeing the visions - but you - you're grounding. You… keep me here." 

Shane had a feeling that he wasn't only talking about the past. 

Ryan sighed, and the hand in Shane's relaxed. Shane still held on tight, though, tighter than he probably should. 

Shane swallowed, and hesitantly started his monologue. "I'm sorry too. For joking so much about things that should be serious, things that are sensitive, things that I shouldn't be laughing at - " 

"That's what I'm talking about, though - you're grounding _because_ of your humor. You make me laugh even when I'm scared shitless. Even when I break down in front of you, like after Kingman? You're… there. You push past my anxiety and then I can concentrate on _you._ " The softness, the fondness with which Ryan said this made Shane's chest clench. With what, he couldn't place. Anxiety? Relief? Hope?

"I don't like to see you that way," Shane confessed. "It… scares me too. Calming you down makes me feel better. You're always so keen to believe, to have faith in everything, and you remind me there's things in this world that are… exciting." _You're exciting,_ went unsaid. 

Ryan stared up at Shane, with open and hopeful eyes; Shane stared down at Ryan with a similar expression. 

"Wanna go home, big guy?" Ryan asked with a crooked smile.

"Yeah, let's go home." 

They waved at Sasha through the windows of Cooper's and she reciprocated. Ryan reluctantly let go of Shane's hand as he hailed a cab. 

.

When they arrived back at 505, silent the whole way there, they still stayed quiet as they took off their shoes and jackets. Afterwards they stood awkwardly in the foyer, not really looking at each other. 

Shane broke the silence. "Wanna go, uh… sit down?" Ryan nodded and Shane took his hand and led him to their couch. 

They sat there for a long while after that, one hand connecting them and the other in their laps. Ryan's heart was racing - he was so unsure of his true feelings towards Shane. Was this really romantic? Was it just because they went through all this together? Was it the close living quarters, too? 

Shane found himself nervous, which was something he didn't usually feel. He looked up at Ryan, whose wide eyes told him he was having anxiety - probably over him. With a furrowed brow, Shane lifted his other hand up to Ryan's face, cupping his jawline gently. 

In a move Shane would later call the most ballsy of his life, he spoke. 

"Ryan," he said, so gentle and open. "Can I kiss you?" 

Ryan's heart jumped into his throat, and he froze, eyes meeting Shane's. He took a second to process the hand now on his face and the tone of Shane's voice, determined him to definitely _not_ be kidding, and then shakily nodded. Shane, relief washing over his features, leaned in; Ryan's eyes fluttered closed, and he held his breath in anticipation. 

Their lips met in a soft kiss. Shane closed his eyes and held it there for a second or two, gauging Ryan's reaction. Ryan lifted his free hand up to brush through the short hairs on the back of Shane's neck. He was so hesitant, so unsure - he treated Shane like he was ready to run, when in reality, Shane wasn't going anywhere. Shane pulled away and both their eyes met when they opened them. Ryan's eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted. Shane's eyes flickered for a second down to his lips, and he pursed his own. 

"So, uh… Come here often?" 

Ryan attacked him with a kiss of his own, pulling at the back of his neck to bring him closer. Shane smiled and leaned into the kiss. Oh, this was it - this was what he wanted for so long, how could he be so oblivious? Ryan moved with Shane's subtle movements, like the way he suddenly pulled at his jawline to say, _closer_. A little graze of tongue, and Ryan melted. He sighed into the kiss. He felt on edge, but was comforted by Shane lifting his other hand to cup the other side of his face and scooting a bit closer. Their lips collided harsher, with more heat, and suddenly Ryan realized he was making out with his best friend. They were in 1960, Kennedy had just won the presidency, and here they were, making out. 

Shane was startled by Ryan's urge to have him closer, but he definitely didn't mind. His bit of tongue lightly flicking across the opening of Ryan's lips allowed him access to more of Ryan's mouth when he sighed. Soon their tongues were added in with their lips, and he curled his fingers of one hand into Ryan's hair and the other around the collar of his shirt. Ryan had to admit that he wanted to be closer, but resisted at the sake of first talking about the kiss. Reluctantly, he pulled away. Shane's grip immediately loosened, and he stared at Ryan, breathless. Ryan didn't mind the sight of a bewildered Shane - he was a bit dazed himself, actually. 

Shane gave him a questioning look once he pushed past the haze of the kiss. 

Ryan gave him an equally questioning look. "'Come here often?' Really?" 

Shane launched into a full-fledged belly laugh and Ryan joined with a wheezing one. Once it died down, Ryan realized one of his hands had trailed down to hold Shane's. 

They met eyes again, Shane fondly looking down at Ryan with a smirk playing on his lips. 

"You love me," he said, like nothing in the world was more obvious. 

"Shut up," Ryan said, and smiled back. It sure hadn't been obvious to him, had it? 

Shane reached up and touched the edges of his hair, and Ryan leaned into the touch a little, eyes closing. In that split second, Shane planted a quick kiss on his lips - Ryan's eyes opened and he laughed, brushing away Shane's hand. His eyes were drawn to the vague stain still on Shane's shirt. 

"What the fuck is _that?_ " Ryan asked, referring to Shane's very badly tied tie, and burst out laughing. 

With a huff, Shane said, "Well _someone_ could've tied it for me if he wasn't so mopey!" Ryan wheezed and reached out for the tie. Shane reluctantly let him untie it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy


End file.
